The Colonel's Boy
by clairon
Summary: Colonel Smith is looking for a new Supply Officer but even the Lieutenant who he picks is unsure that Hannibal has made the best choice! A cautionary tale about why you should not romance nurses instead of getting your tetanus shots! COMPLETED
1. Chapter 1

Rating: NC-17

Type: Angst

Pairing: Face/Other….

Summary: Colonel Smith is looking for a new Supply Officer but even the Lieutenant who he picks is unsure that Hannibal has made the best choice!

Warnings/Content: Contains male/male relationship non consensual, not graphic but the intent is certainly there, also some full-bodied soldier type language.

Author's Notes: One off story (unless of course, somebody wants some more) that just came to me on a long journey and demanded to be written

Disclaimer: I do not own the A-Team characters and am making no profit from this story, which is a work of fan fiction only.

**THE COLONEL'S BOY**

"_O! I have lost my reputation! I have lost the immortal part of myself, and what remains is bestial."_

_Othello, 2. 2_

_William Shakespeare_

Templeton Peck signed with irritation and threw his legs over the side of his bed carefully avoiding the damp patch that still stained the sheet following his earlier activities. He should shower – he felt dirty and tainted but he knew from bitter experience that simple water would never be enough to clean away his shame. A sharp pain shot through him but he ignored it as he had learnt to do. His body was in a constant state of hurt following the abuse he was regularly subjected to but dwelling on it did him no good, so he set his concentration elsewhere.

It was hot, suffocatingly so and the buzz from insects who seemed to be having one hell of a party just outside his room conspired to make sleeping too difficult.

"Shit!" Peck whispered as he rubbed at his eyes and giving up the battle, stretched for the packet of cigarettes beside his bed. "Who are you trying to kid?" he muttered as he lit the smoke and groaning, staggered on weak legs to the door of his quarters. The sound of the insect party was magnified as he opened the door, but he bit back the second curse that threatened to escape him.

It wasn't the heat or the insects; they were there every night and Peck normally had no difficulty in sleeping. It was the conversation with Colonel Smith he had had that afternoon and more specifically the proposition Smith had given him. That was what stopped Peck from finding the release of sleep as he played the Colonel's words around his head endlessly.

He closed his eyes and pictured the scene……………….

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"I haven't asked you here to talk about my cigar supply, Lieutenant, although I am grateful for your efforts, of course." Colonel John 'Hannibal' Smith regarded the soldier who stood uncomfortably coiled at attention before him.

So young! Hannibal thought as he fiddled with the wrapping of his latest cigar, never taking his eyes off the man. And yet the kid was no different from hundreds of other ambitious, smart junior officers in this army, all eager to climb selfishly over the man beside them, all attuned and so desperate for triumph that they did not care what they did to succeed. All of them drunk and seduced by the mere dregs of power they had already tasted, desperate for more.

"How old are you, soldier?" Smith asked.

"Twenty four, Sir!" The response came back without the hint of delay, barked in true Marine fashion.

Hannibal shook his head slowly. "Lieutenant, you're off duty, I'm off duty, we're in the Officer's Club, let's be a little less formal, OK?"

There was a visible gulp as those blue eyes moved from the spot on the wall they had been regarding, down to focus on the superior officer before them. "Yes… Sir."

Hannibal smiled at the slightly uneasy hint to the voice. "Take a seat, soldier." He indicated the chair across the table from him and watched as the Lieutenant sat down somewhat stiffly. The kid was holding his curiosity in, Smith could tell. The wily Colonel had a good idea of the thoughts whirring in his mind; he wanted to ask what this was all about, no doubt he suspected, his mind having been running over all the possibilities since Smith had invited him to this meeting in Potter's office the day before. Smith could guess what he thought this was all about, but the kid was wisely keeping quiet, waiting for more information. Smith noted the glint of expectation in the eyes and the lick of the lips in anticipation, just once and then the kid forced himself to relax. The Colonel saw the veil come down over those intelligent eyes, and the bland expression that followed it. Ever played poker, kid? Smith wanted to ask but he thought better of it, knew the answer already – of course he had. Smith knew his type; was sure that Peck had experienced every sin in the book and excelled at most – poker was old hat for sure.

"How's the shoulder?" Smith asked.

The Lieutenant shrugged. "OK," he replied guardedly.

"You'll be back to combat soon, then?"

Smith noted the lick of the lips again and a nervous hand moving up to fiddle with the pristine tie at his neck. "That's up to Colonel Potter, Sir."

"Indeed it is." Smith popped the cigar into his mouth and moved his hand to his jacket to find his lighter. Immediately a Zippo appeared in front of him, flame flashing, matching the accommodating smile on the Lieutenant behind it. He was a cool customer this kid, knew all the right moves. Smirking, Smith bent in acceptance, lit his cigar and sat back taking a long draw. Enjoying the scene as the blond lieutenant sat in front of him, drawn tight with expectation but not allowing his impatience to show in any aspect of his being save for the fidgeting of his hands – from tie to hair to table and back again.

Finally Smith smiled. "Drink, Lieutenant?"

Peck cleared his throat nervously. "A beer, Sir," he ventured almost shyly.

Smith smiled. "Get yourself one and me another Jack Daniels." He pushed his empty glass across the table. "Put it on my tab."

"Yes, Sir."

Smith watched with interest as the kid moved to the bar. Noted the confident sureness in his walk, the immaculate cut of his uniform, the brilliant shine of his boots – oh yes, Peck appeared the complete soldier; young and handsome, he had obviously worked hard on his appearance; you wouldn't catch this one out at a surprise inspection. And yet Smith watched the reactions of the other officers in the bar – the knowing looks, the almost visible shrinking away and the dismissive shaking of a few heads. His fellow officers looked at the young Lieutenant and looked away, not impressed. Even Lucky, the bald barman known for his easy going personality regarded Peck with a look of distrust and something more, Smith hesitated to name it but it sure could be interpreted as disgust.

Peck ignored all of the reactions as if he did not see them, seemingly impervious as he smiled blandly at the barman and ordered, his eyes moving to rest appreciatively on a table occupied by three nurses further into the room.

The Colonel sat back into his seat again, his eyes flashing at the scene and missing nothing, while his mind analysed the facts. It was worse than he had thought – there was a distinct atmosphere of hostility centred on the young Lieutenant. Gossip on a base like this spread like wildfire and it would appear that everyone knew the kid's secret. That in itself was not a shock – Colonel Potter had a reputation that was never openly discussed but was common knowledge and Peck fit the requirements perfectly – blond, slim, young and good looking. Smith recalled his earlier thought as he recognized that the kid was no where near as angelic as his looks suggested.

The Colonel let out a long sigh. He was a career soldier; he knew the way of the world, had seen such sordid little arrangements before, even sat on the sidelines and watched as potentially accomplished army careers were destroyed and lives shattered. Power corrupts; though it was a cliché it was true, Smith knew from painful experience and determined he would not watch impotently again. Something about this kid…………..

Peck turned, drinks in hand, his perfect features chiselled in concentration as he ignored all those questionable looks being shot his way, Smith was hit anew by the beauty of this boy. A knot of intense lust slithered deep down in his guts like a treacherous serpent coiling to attack. Smith smothered it down easily but nevertheless its very existence caused him to re-evaluate his current actions.

What the hell was he doing here? Stepping on Potter's turf for no apparent reason except the fact that he could not stand the lecherous old bastard! There was something about this kid!

But what was is exactly? Sure he came in nice packaging but there were hundreds of others just as good looking, just as willing….. so why had the Colonel come here, what was it that drew him to this boy like a moth to the flame?

"Sir," Peck hesitatingly passed the whiskey to the Colonel and perched uncomfortably on the edge of his chair once more. He placed his beer on the table in front of him but never made a move to drink any. Those wonderfully expressive blue eyes looked up expectantly.

Smith took a long draw on his cigar. "You're not twenty four," he finally said, challengingly.

Peck's mouth quirked into a slightly uneven smile. "It's what my file says, Sir," he replied confidently although his eyes moved away from Smith's intense stare.

"I know," revealed the Colonel. "I've read it."

Peck allowed his eyebrows to rise a little. "And why would you want to do that, Sir?"

Smith's smile was wide. "Professional interest," he disclosed. "I've lost my Supply Officer."

Peck nodded. "I was sorry to hear about Lieutenant Crispin, Sir." The smile became more mysterious. "I thought he would make the grade."

Smith snorted, not willing to be drawn into a conversation about the failings of his recently transferred away second in command and finding himself irritated by the knowing glint in Peck's eye.

Seemingly unperturbed the Lieutenant continued. "So what can I help you with, Sir?" As he spoke his hand reached out and long, slender, girlish fingers began to caress the previously untouched beer bottle in front of him.

Smith felt his mouth go dry as an intense longing swept through him. Feelings long ago extinguished and consigned to the very depths of the Colonel's memory rushed forwards. Jesus; this kid was dangerous! He wondered if Potter had any idea about the viper he clutched to his breast! With a shudder, Smith surmised that Potter was so blinded by his own lust he would never recognise the vitality and verve of the venom in his Lieutenant.

Peck was eying him expectantly but the Colonel was too wise and experienced to surrender his control of the situation, however pushy this youngster proved to be. So he simply smiled and continued his smoke. "Drink your beer, Lieutenant," he said chummily. "I don't want anything from you, just a friendly chat."

"A friendly chat?" Peck could not disguise the disappointment in his voice. "I thought……."

"What did you think?" Smith effortlessly moved on to the attack, leaning forward a little in his seat. The kid may be cocky but he wasn't as good at masking his emotion as he should be. Kid needed to work on that if he was going to fulfil his promise.

Peck smiled again. "I thought I could help you with something," he responded meekly. Then with more force and his eyes already drifting towards the door, he continued, "I don't mean to sound rude, Sir and I'm grateful that you should take an interest in me but if you have nothing to … em…… offer me, I really must be going. I'm a busy man."

"Scams to run, deals to make….." Hannibal's smile was wide, his eyes twinkling with mischief as he prepared to deliver the telling blow. "Commanding Officers to screw, eh, Colonel's boy?"

Peck's smile froze on his face and he let out a nervous almost feral growl. Smith eyed him, picking up the minute changes of expression as the emotion ran across the young soldier's features – disbelief, guilt, anger… Yeah, kid definitely had to work on his control – he was revealing too much. Smith saw it all and the final cockiness that triumphed as Peck stood up, chair scraping across the wooden floor. "If that's all you've got to…"

"Sit down, Lieutenant!" Smith's voice was biting with authority, causing Peck's head to jerk up. "You're making a show of yourself and you really don't want to do that, do you?"

Peck hesitated. Tongue running over luscious lips again and Smith could almost hear the argument that raged in his head. Finally with a disgruntled snort, the blond slumped back down in the chair.

"That's better," Smith said. "I knew you'd see it my way, kid," he smiled.

Peck's face was flushed with indignant anger. "I don't see…" he began again.

Smith raised his hand as he cut across him. "You've got a smart mouth, Lieutenant. It's gonna get you in trouble unless you learn to control it. Now shut up and listen!"

"But I. …"

"That's an order, Lieutenant!" Peck fidgeted in his chair and his hand went up to run nervously through his hair – which was too long, Hannibal noted, but that was usual for one of Potter's boys – the old pervert liked them that way. To his credit Peck managed to control his tongue and said nothing else but his eyes clearly revealed his discomfort.

Smith took a last draw on his cigar, then slowly and with great purpose stubbed it out. He raised his eyes to stare at the youngster before him. "You ever think about the future, kid?"

Peck gulped, shook his head as if he didn't trust his voice to speak. His earlier confidence had drained away and he looked like a chastised school boy.

The Colonel chuckled appreciatively – even that look was cute on this kid. "No, I don't expect you do," he said. "You're young and hungry and eager – what do you care about tomorrow, next week, next year? I never did either but there comes a time when it is important. When you suddenly realise that what you are, how you conduct yourself is important cos when you're gone it's all you'll leave behind. Your reputation, kid, it's valuable." He looked around the bar. "There're a lot of guys here that have been tempted just like you but they have chosen to rise above it, because there is a better way. Do you know what they think about you? Do you feel their eyes burning into your back?"

"I don't give a damn about them, what they think!" Peck spat. He was beginning to shake.

Smith was shocked but not surprised by the sheer vitriol in Peck's voice. "I'm sure you don't but maybe its time you started to care, Templeton. Maybe that's what you can do for me."

Peck ignored the intimacy of the Colonel addressing him by his first name. "You think I have a choice on this?" His eyes were painfully wide with the hint of moisture. The controlled and restrained officer of minutes before was, Peck was fighting to retain even a trace of his earlier composure.

"You always have a choice, Lieutenant," Smith responded impassively, ignoring the wave of sympathy that splashed through him.

"That's easy for you to say, Colonel!" Again the tone of his voice was acidic.

"I wasn't always a Colonel, kid. Not so long ago I was in the same place you are."

Peck sighed, ran his hands through his hair. "But of course you did not succumb; you overcame, whereas my feeble attempts are destined to fail because I lack moral fibre. You looked up my records. You must have seen it. I was born to be a whore! Spare me, Colonel – I've heard this all before, many times!"

"What I read in your file up until a few months ago at least, was very complementary – you're a good soldier and that, coupled with what I have learnt about you in the dealings I have had, tells me you have potential. I've been in Nam for a long time, nobody sources cigars like you! It's a talent, kid!"

"And that's it! That's my potential – a goddamn tobacconist?" Peck shook his head in disgust.

Smith waited for a heart beat before continuing, "Oh I'm sure you could screw your way as far as you want – Potter only picks boys with talent as well as looks, he's real particular, I know - but you said earlier that you have no choice. Well kid, I'm offering you that choice."

"Me? Why?" Despite himself Peck was leaning forward, his breaths coming in short, sharp noisy gasps.

"You got potential."

"Bull shit!"

"Think about it." Hannibal kept his voice firm, his eyes never leaving the petulant soul in front of him.

"Think about what?"

"Potter or me."

"Potter or you! In what way Colonel? Do you want to screw me? Do you want me to be Colonel Smith's boy?" Peck's voice was unrestrained and gaining in volume as his eyes flashed wildly. "Has Colonel Potter told you how willing, how responsive I am? Has he described in graphic detail, no doubt, the good time I could give you? What a pretty, skilled, insatiable little whore I am?"

"I am talking about you returning to combat, being the soldier you were trained to be, putting your obvious talent and aptitude where it belongs best. You can be part of my Team." The Colonel's expression was unreadable, his voice firm and guarded; a complete contrast to that of the younger man before him.

"Part of your Team!" Peck snorted with no humour, his anger evident in the way his whole body seemed to shudder. "I don't believe you Colonel. I met your Team, they know me, remember. I've seen it in their eyes, I've seen the way they look at me, like something they wiped off their boots - they know what I am. They will never accept me. Never!"

"My Team will accept what I tell them to accept, Lieutenant but if you want that as an excuse then have it." Smith allowed no emotion into his voice although he could not help but be moved by the simmering fury of the man before him. It, more than anything else, made him believe he had made the correct decision, however deep he hid it, Peck was obviously affected by his current circumstances. Now Smith knew he had to press home his point. "Slink back to Potter, be what he wants you to be; do that but you will have to find a way to live with the hunger that burns deep inside of you – it won't be satisfied by what you have here. If all you wanted was to be someone's bitch you could have stayed in LA and lived a pampered, worthless existence. The need that drove you to enlist way too young, that brought you here, that pushed you through boot camp, that turned you into a half good soldier, that drove you to your Green Beret; it will never be satiated by Potter or any man like him. You're better than that and I can take the anger that burns in you and temper it, mould it into something you can be proud of. I can give you a reason to get up in the morning. I can ensure that you dare look at yourself in the mirror but most of all I can make it so that when you walk in a place like this, other men, your fellow officers, look at you with respect and even envy. You wouldn't have to hide behind your anger anymore or feel the heat of their revulsion burning into your back."

Peck snorted but fixed the Colonel with his questioning stare. "What about girls?" he asked.

"Girls?"

Peck nodded. "Have you tried trying to chat up some skirt when you're the Colonel's boy? Man is it hard work!"

Smith chuckled wryly. "You can have all the girls you want, Peck, although obviously you'll have to sweet talk them yourself."

"No fear," Peck breathed, casting a longing glance over his shoulder to where the nurses still sat. His hand shot out and he took a long gulp of the warmed beer.

"Do I have an answer, Lieutenant?"

"What, you think I'm easy or something?" Peck's smile was simply stunning as he relaxed. "I have to think about this."

"What's to think about?"

"Apart from the fact that I'll be giving up a relatively safe desk job and its creature comforts to haul my ass through the stinking jungle chasing Charley!" Peck spat prickily once more, shaking his head slowly.

"You're a soldier, Peck, although you don't want to believe it, you were born to haul your ass through the stinking jungle chasing Charley! And I can help you with that!"

Peck snorted ruefully. "I'm sure you can Sir, only I'm not sure I want your help." He stood up again, more slowly this time, more controlled. "I'll get back to you, Colonel."

Smith rolled his eyes. "Don't take your time, Lieutenant. My offer won't stay on the table forever."

Peck nodded slowly. "Appreciate it, Sir. I'll be in touch. Thanks for the beer."

The Colonel stared at the barely touched bottle. "You're welcome, kid."

"I'll have your cigars by the end of the week."

"I want your answer before then."

Peck nodded again.

"You need to work on your control, kid. You aren't gonna scam shit if you lose your poise as quickly as just now."

Peck hesitated, gulped down the sharp retort that had threatened to spill out and then snapped off a flawless salute, turned on his heel and left the OC, ignoring, as always, the antagonistically curious stares that followed his progress out of the bar.

Smith leant back into the chair and drew in a deep breath.

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In the hot night Peck remembered his conversation of earlier in the day. 'Work on his control,' Smith had said. Colonel wasn't wrong for sure. He needed to keep it together, control his anger at the powerlessness of his situation and channel it into something useful. Control was something that Colonel Potter did not request for him – far from it. He snorted humourlessly.

The thought of the Colonel brought springing into his mind the memory of the shock he had felt the first time Colonel Potter had forced him down on to his knees. It wasn't that he was new to such activity, hell you didn't grow up the way he had, being swept from one Catholic orphanage to another, without at least a little knowledge of illicit carnal delights. If it wasn't the Fathers forcing the fear of God into you, it was the older kids ensuring that your physical body was at more risk than your eternal soul, at least for the time you were within their sights. And Peck had experienced more than most – being born with an attractive visage was as much a curse as a blessing. For though he learnt quickly that flashing his brilliant smile could bring him most things he wanted, it also brought along unwanted attention. So being forced to his knees in Potter's office as the Colonel fiddled with his zipper was by no means a new experience; it was, however, a shock. Peck had been in the army for over eighteen months by that point and had naively hoped he had left such smutty situations a long way behind. He should have known of course that anywhere you had a critical mass of men you were going to find some who had to exert their power over their brothers in whatever deviant way they saw fit. If it happened in the Catholic Church for all its professed virtue, of course it would be apparent in the aggressiveness that characterised the armed forces.

Up until that point the army had been good for Peck, surprisingly so for someone who had enlisted very much on the rebound. He had enthusiastically thrown himself into his training, passing everything with flying colours as he had in his school career before. For someone who had never considered the military as a career, he was surprised that he not only had an aptitude, he also enjoyed soldiering. He was posted to Nha Trang enthused, inspired and with a deep desire to succeed. He completed a couple of missions, earned himself praise from his Colonel and proved himself to be a useful and adept Second Lieutenant.

Yeah, Nam was bad of course, and in the jungle it was terrifying but Peck had coped with it. He had started a little sideline in supplying things, nothing much but it had brought him more contacts and he had hoped to increase his business, he had always been able to accumulate stuff – he figured it came with the smile.

And then it had all fallen apart – out on a mission he had taken a glancing shot to his shoulder – nothing dangerous or too painful but it had meant he had been assigned to desk duties in Da Nang. Peck had been frustrated and annoyed at his enforced transfer but he figured he could do with the R and R and use the time to pursue other activities including working on his growing procurement business. What he had not realised was that his posting brought him under the direct command of Colonel Potter – 'under' being the operative word!

The shocking demand for the first personal service during his very first meeting with the man, was quickly followed by more and then more physical and intimate requirements from his new Colonel which though making him feel completely violated, Peck succumbed to, of course. How could he not? Potter was his commanding officer; he made it quite clear that Peck's future career rested on his performance and his complete obedience – it was worse than anything the young man had suffered in the orphanages. He was completely powerless. And as if the physical abuse was not hard enough to endure what Potter's attentions brought with them was far worse.

Colonel Potter and his appetites were evidently well known to everyone in the camp. Peck found that his newfound friends and contacts drifted away as quickly as they arrived. The few that remained disappeared when it became evident that Peck could not now deliver all he had promised. His time was taken up by his commanding officer and Potter was not discreet about anything; the word soon got around that Peck was his boy.

Peck noticed it immediately of course, conversations stopped when he walked into the mess. There was sniggering and muttering and people moved away from him. Pieces of his kit disappeared mysteriously and his bed in the barracks was regularly trashed, constantly stinking of urine or worse. Potter reacted by giving Peck his own room which only served to alienate the other men more. The anonymous beatings started then. As trained Special Forces Peck could look after himself but not when he was set upon by ten men, or hauled out of the showers or the john, his arms tied painfully behind his back as the punches and kicks rained down on the Colonel's boy.

Peck took it all stoically, what else could he do? Who could he appeal to? He had asked twice for a transfer back to combat duties but the first time the MO had declared him still unfit and the second Potter had thrashed him with a horse crop until he was unconscious, spitting viciously at him, admonishing him for his lack of gratitude. Peck had not asked again. Instead he had learned to live with the shame and the embarrassment and the pain, all the time suppressing the rage within him that constantly screamed of how he needed to get away, that he was losing his edge, his reputation. That he would never be able to survive.

And now he had the opportunity. By rights he should have been begging Colonel Smith to take him and he was a little surprised by his own cautious reaction in the OC. But if this situation had taught him anything it was not to jump into further trouble in an effort to escape what he had proved he could endure.

As he stood in the shimmering heat of the Asian night, smoking his cigarette slowly he forced himself to consider that he may not be able to suffer what Smith was offering him. It was a hurtful but not altogether unrealistic suspicion.

Peck knew all about the Colonel's boys – their reputation preceded them in the same way that Peck's did him but that was where the similarities ceased. For Smith's boys were described by the very best of words, words that never now appeared in a sentence that included Peck's name. Jesus; they were even called the A Team! Ultimate top dogs! Elite soldiers, every last one of them. They would never stomach someone like Peck joining them.

The blond Lieutenant sighed, threw down his finished smoke and immediately wished for another one but stopped himself from going back into his room. He shivered although the night was far from chill, the heat still throbbing intensely in the air as Peck conjured up images of the members of the A Team he had already come across.

Sergeant BA Baracus – just the thought of the massively muscled, bad tempered black man who preferred to talk with his fists rather than his mouth had Peck shuddering again. He had met Baracus a few days before he got injured. The big guy had wanted a new part for some wrecked jeep he was tinkering with in the machine shop. Peck had agreed to deliver but for various reasons, chiefly his injury and then Potter, had been enable to fulfil the order. He had already used Baracus' money to fund another enterprise which too had gone belly up. Not surprisingly Peck had been keeping away from the big man as much as possible. The thought of being his team mate, of being respected as his superior officer made Peck's mouth go dry. He knew Baracus was more likely to rip him limb from limb rather than follow his orders.

Then there was Ray Brenner. Peck figured Smith would be planning to promote the gently spoken man to First Lieutenant now Crispin was gone, so that Peck could fit below him in the command structure. Brenner himself seemed like a nice guy but he was so straight; the safe pair of hands that made the best type of deputy; nothing startling or inspiring but simply solid. Brenner was a big buddy of Baracus, and when forced to chose between his friend or the new upstart lieutenant renowned for screwing his way to the top – Peck knew who he would chose.

Smith's Team always seemed to use the same pilot for most missions; tall, lanky, a kid not much older than Peck who talked with a Texan drawl. Peck recalled he had spent a night with him in the OC just after he had arrived in Da Nang. God, what was his name? He seemed OK and word on the wire was he was a shit hot pilot who had pulled his guys out of hot spots they had no business in surviving. Of course Peck had blown any friendship before it had truly started by hitting on the pretty blonde nurse that apparently the pilot had been working on for weeks. The pilot – shit what was his name? Mc-something, Scottish definitely – had stared at Peck as he left the OC arm in arm with the nurse his wide eyes dulled by betrayal. They had never spoken to each other since and now Peck couldn't even remember his name – only the hurt in his eye. He certainly couldn't expect any friendship there!

And then there was Colonel Smith – courageous, daring unorthodox. He seemed to get off on pissing off his superior officers – Colonel Potter hated him, regularly going in to loud and long cursing sessions about the infernal man. But Peck had liked what he had seen and heard and he made a point of using what little spare time he had to source good quality cigars for the Colonel with the twinkling blue eyes. Man got results, had carved out an excellent team and they were obviously the most important things in his world – how good must that make his soldiers feel? But Hannibal? Why Hannibal? Something about miracles and the Alps and elephants, if Peck remembered his history correctly. Well, why, if the man liked elephants was he suddenly turning his attention to the dirtiest rat in the whole damn camp?

Peck snorted, squeezing his hands into fists of ineffective rage. Why did the Colonel have to come now? Why couldn't he have come calling before? Why not when Peck had been newly presented with his Green Beret, when he was confident and carefree and clean? As sure of himself as any other soldier. Not now. Now Potter's stinking carcass had squeezed out his belief and his obnoxious bodily fluids had drowned all of Peck's hope. He could have done it then, he could have been part of the A Team but not now. Now he was a different being. He was soiled, damaged goods and no one should touch him.

He blinked his eyes, sniffing back his emotion. Control – yep, he needed to work on it. Surely it was better to walk away now without trying. Surely it was better to accept what he was rather than be proved ultimately undeserving of a place with the elite. Maybe Smith had only asked on a dare. Maybe they were all having a big laugh at the reaction they had caused in Potter's boy. Knowing he would never dare to reach out and take what they offered.

Peck scrubbed nervously at his face, wiping his hand across his eyes. He should give up, just walk away back into Potter's suffocating embrace, forget that he had ever had the chance to be a real soldier.

This time he couldn't quell the urge and slipped back into his quarters to return seconds later with his cigarettes. He sat on the step, lit another, and tasted the smoky relief. It wasn't in his nature. He couldn't walk away – that wasn't what he did. His childhood had shown him he was missing out on many things but it had also taught him that if he worked hard enough he could still attain those things he craved. Deep beneath the cynical conman he had become he still clung to the childish hope that he could make his dreams come true, he could find a place where he belonged.

As he closed his eyes a vision from his childhood slipped unbidden into his mind. He saw the freckled pale face, framed with unruly curls of ginger that belonged to Frederick Thomas, a boy Peck had shared a room with for a short period of time at Angel Guardians Orphanage. He was known to everyone as Red Fred for it was not only his hair that was red in hue, young Freddy's politics were slightly to the left of Karl Marx! Just how he had managed to garner such extreme views Peck never did find out but Thomas was clever enough to keep his most intensely un-American ideas quiet for most of the time.

Peck remembered fondly the lectures he had been forced to listen to about revolutions and Lenin and how the people should be given the power to decide their own fates. Peck had mostly got very bored but had picked up by osmosis as much communist doctrine as he needed to make a valid judgement – it was all bullshit! But one adventure he had shared with Freddy had taken him to an important moment in his life.

They had sneaked out of the Orphanage and made their way across town to Hollywood Boulevard on Oscar night, two world weary thirteen year olds, who nevertheless could not stop their eyes widening with the sheer enormity of the event. Freddy had bitched and grumbled about the excesses of the middle classes and how it would all change, come the revolution. Peck had gone along simply to ogle the starlets in their low cut dresses but what he had uncovered that night was something much more than eye strain.

He realised that a lot of what Freddy had said was true. It wasn't fair that he should have been born a way from such luxury. It wasn't right that he was pushed from one orphanage to another, wearing clothes handed down from older boys, desperately searching for something that these glamorous people seemed to have acquired with ease. He had made a decision that night – one day he would have what they had. It would take time and hard work but the star-struck boy knew he should be welcomed into this glittering world and if he tried hard enough he would get to be.

From that point he had started feeding his interest in such a world – the drinks they imbibed, the places they visited, the words they used and the clothes they wore. After that one night Templeton Peck had been inspired, he changed and focused on a concerted attempt to get to where he wanted to be. And that attempt had only faltered when Lesley Bectall had so inexplicably called off their engagement and disappeared. Reeling Peck had lied about his age and enlisted immediately but he had still managed to cling resolutely to his dream that he could find a place in the world of the wealthy and famous.

Young Freddy Thomas never really understood how he had contributed to the horrifying change in his friend. He could not contemplate that Peck having been exposed to such gratuitous exuberance as Oscar night, had not come to the same conclusion as he; that revolution was the only answer. He did know the day that Peck entered their bedroom wearing a brand new fifty dollar suit the handsome blond had somehow acquired, that he had lost his convert big time. Soon afterward Freddy moved orphanages leaving Peck with the promise that he would make it to Moscow within a year and Peck should look for him at the head of the invading Russian army! Peck had never missed the ginger haired kid, quickly diverting his attention from vaguely listening to inane revolutionary speeches to taking long walks around the orphanage garden pond with any pretty girl he could talk into accompanying him.

Pulled back to the present Peck wondered what Freddy would say now if he could see his one time friend enlisted in the American army and sent to Vietnam to kill communists. Maybe Freddy would maintain that the situation he found himself in with Potter was fair punishment for such inexcusable capitalist scumbag behaviour!

Peck blew out a lungful of smoke in an amused snort. "Guess you could be right too, Freddy!" he muttered. "Maybe we always get what we deserve and I deserve to end up as some old Colonel's boy!"

He stood up stiffly then, ignoring the pain that flashed through him and flicked his cigarette butt carefully into the bushes before him, hoping that at least one of those goddamn squealing insects would be scorched where it fell. He looked up; the sky was beginning to brighten in the east, shards of violent red reaching outwards from below the horizon.

He stretched and yawned. He should really get some sleep but still the arguments raged around his head. "What the hell," he muttered softly. He turned back towards his room and slowly

moved inside as he finished his musing. "Well if I'm gonna learn about control and be a Colonel's boy, better make sure I pick the right Colonel!"

THE END


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Notes: So I lied! Truthfully, after such an enthusiastic reception I decided to percolate a little further into this particular story and now it's morphing uncontrollably! Oh well………..

Disclaimer: I do not own the A-Team characters and am making no profit from this story, which is a work of fan fiction only.

Warning: Faceman does what he does best in this chapter and there is ome strong language!

**THE COLONEL'S BOY**

**Part 2**

"_O! I have lost my reputation! I have lost the immortal part of myself, and what remains is bestial."_

_Othello 2.2_

_William Shakespeare_

"You're nuts!"

"Don't you want to change the colour of your lieutenant's bar, kid?"

"Sure, but what about Brenner, I thought….." Peck hesitated, his handsome features pulled out of shape as he consciously stopped his mouth from talking.

Hannibal smiled brightly, pushing his advantage with relish. "What did you think?"

Peck licked his lips, nervous and unwilling to reveal his thoughts, he finally muttered, "That you'd give the promotion to him, make him first lieutenant, XO."

"We're not here to discuss Ray; we're here to discuss you."

"But…"

"Yes?" The intensity of the twinkle in the Colonel's eye seemed to strengthen with every word.

Peck had the sudden feeling that every single muscle in his body must move immediately. Taking a deep breath he forced them all to remain motionlessly erect at attention. He felt uncomfortably vulnerable before those icy blue eyes that seemed to skewer him, but knew he must keep his control now and yet inexplicably he heard his voice answering the Colonel. "They'll never follow me, they hate me. I couldn't…"

Dammit! He forced himself again to stop talking, to stop revealing, and left his words hanging pathetically on the air.

Smith picked up his discomfort instantly. "You're having a real problem finishing your sentences, kid!" he chortled.

Peck felt an intense desire to swipe that annoyingly, patronising smirk from the Colonel's face. He choked back the want, instead concentrating on forcing his lungs to fill with air, and willing himself to feel the calmness the oxygen brought as it spread out through his body.

Smith's eyes beamed in appreciation but he said nothing and the silence cut the air between the two men. Again Peck's body screamed for movement but again he smothered the need as the Colonel eyed him, waiting, simply waiting.

Finally Peck could stand it no longer. "Permission to speak, Colonel," he growled.

Smith nodded, his grin even more assured than before. "Go ahead, Lieutenant."

"Colonel, I don't understand. I … If this is all some cruel joke, then just tell me now."

"A joke, Lieutenant?" Smith's eyebrows arched. "Do you hear anybody laughing?"

"No Sir!"

"Then why do you think this is a joke?"

"Because… because I don't understand what you see in me." Peck hesitated as the Colonel's brows went even higher but when it became evident that Smith would say no more, he continued. "I think maybe you're amusing yourself, passing the time with me like a cat playing with a mouse."

Smith snorted and sat back in his chair. "You don't know me very well, kid, but believe me that's not my style. I never 'play' with my men – a good game of cat and mouse with my enemy makes the blood rush around the body a little faster sure, maybe I tease the big brass a little too, but never with the men under my command."

"Then why am I here?"

"You tell me, Lieutenant."

Peck grunted in frustration but kept his voice steady as he responded. "You invited me to join your Team, Sir."

Smith nodded and very deliberately took a cigar from his top pocket, bit of the end and lit it, his eyes never leaving the soldier before him. Finally he said, "I have been in this army for a long time, Lieutenant, been in this war for too damn long. The whole thing has dragged on, and I've watched as the number of well-educated and experienced career soldiers on the front lines has dropped sharply as casualties and combat rotation take their toll. There are no more bright young men signing up cos they know what's waiting for them here and so the talent pool for new officers is shallow, too shallow. The new officers I see here are just kids, barely in their 20s, often raw and without experience, young, unemployed college dropouts, they get rushed through officer training and we then expect them to lead our army into battle, to inspire our troops." Smith shook his head sadly. "I'm what they call 'a lifer' and I know it doesn't work that way. Have you heard of My Lai, Lieutenant?"

"No, Sir."

"You will soon and so will the rest of the world. You send kids to do a man's work and you end up with situations like My Lai."

Peck gulped. "What happened?" he asked.

The Colonel let out a long sigh. "It's not a pretty story and once it gets outs to the world, it's gonna make our job here so much more difficult. My Lai was a village in the South Vietnamese district of Son My, a heavily mined area where the VC was deeply entrenched. In March last year the men of Charlie Company, 11th Brigade, entered the village. Numerous members of Charlie Company had been maimed or killed in the surrounding area and those guys were mighty pissed. They were on a search and destroy mission but my source tells me it soon degenerated into the massacre of over 300 apparently unarmed civilians including women, children, and the elderly. The soldier who told me, an old friend from Korea, spoke of several old men being bayoneted, praying women and children shot in the back of the head, and at least one girl was raped and then killed."

"No," Peck let out his breath in a slow haunted whisper. "How could that happen?" But in the back of his head a quote he had heard somewhere he couldn't remember flickered annoyingly. 'To kill my monster, I must become him.'

The Colonel ran his hands across his eyes as if just the telling had brought the weight of guilt from the story down on him. "It's not easy leading men to war, Lieutenant. It takes more than just the ability to graduate from Officer's Candidate School. There has to be something more - the ability to make your men reach for glory in the most hellish of circumstances is an elusive quality lacking in so many of the young Officers I see rotating through here every day. So they fail and we fail them."

"Begging your pardon, Sir, but what does this have to do with me?" Peck asked softly, forcing away the thoughts in his head, concentrating only on himself.

Smith smiled but his eyes remained veiled by tiredness. "As I told you before I've been looking a goddamn long time for a new executive officer. I think maybe I've found him."

"Me?" Peck's voice was incredulous. "You said yourself that I was never twenty four – I'm barely in my 20s, I'm raw and got little experience, I was a college dropout and I got rushed through officer training… seems to me I fit the profile of your incapable officer class very well. And not only that I have the added transgression of screwing my CO or rather letting him screw me. Surely there's no one whose fitness for leadership in the field of battle is more questionable than me. Just ask your men, I pissed them off enough for them to see that someone with my emotional and intellectual deficiencies should never be issuing orders especially to a Team like them."

Smith's smile brightened. "What do you think about the war, Lieutenant?"

"What?" Peck didn't like to be wrong-footed but he was finding it increasingly difficult to keep up with the changes in direction of the conversation and the accompanying thoughts it was bringing him were making him most uncomfortable.

"This war – you think we're gonna win?"

Peck licked his lips, his eyes narrowing as he stared at the elusive man in front of him, trying to ascertain exactly what the Colonel was after. Smith just smiled enigmatically. "You want the official version or…." He began but the Colonel cut him off.

"I want to know what you've learnt in your time here, Lieutenant. I want you to show me that you can see things tactically; the bigger picture; that you have some of that elusive quality I talked about earlier – the vision to lead good, no exceptional, men."

Peck shook his head. "God," he muttered. "Why couldn't I have met you ten weeks ago? Before Potter …. before I let him…?" He drew in a deep trembling breath and blinked away the moisture that threatened to swamp his eyes.

Smith nodded in recognition. "All things happen for a purpose, Lieutenant. So tell me what you see."

Peck gulped. He searched the Colonel's face again, desperate for some hint of the answers he was expecting but the wily soldier's features remained completely unreadable. How to reply? What to divulge? Smith was waiting but still the younger man hesitated, fearful that he was about to blow his chance but knowing he had to say something – did he play it safe, tow the party line or did he take the risk? From what the Colonel had already said, he suspected that the old soldier saw that everything was not as good as the powers that be would like them to maintain, still was that all a trap to lull him into a false sense of security, so he would reveal his true feelings? And when he did, would he been thrown into the brig for disloyalty, treason even? He finally decided honesty was the best policy. He ventured, "I think … I think that the top brass have forgotten the basic lessons of war-fighting that you have to understand your enemy."

Smith cocked his head slightly. "Go on," he prompted, revealing nothing of his own thoughts.

Peck licked his lips. Should he go for it or should he play it cool? Dammit; this man had obviously seen something in him that made him stand out from the rest, something that had brought him to this moment. Peck saw that there was no point in playing safe; he had to play it to the hilt, give it his all, for once reveal the true self behind the mask. He cleared his throat, his heart beating rapidly and the sweat springing to his brow. "The VC follow the strategic and tactical doctrine of Sun Tzu, written two and a half thousand years ago but just as effective today: enemy attacks, Charlie retreats; enemy digs in, he harasses; enemy exhausted, he attacks; enemy retreats, he pursues. But us we ignore it. For this whole goddamn war we have fought the same battles on the same terrain using the same obsolete tactics and Charlie has used his same strategy. We are looking for a great battle and a great victory that'll placate the people at home but it is never going to happen. Charlie isn't going to make that mistake."

"You sound like a text book, kid," Smith snorted. "But go on."

Warming to his topic as his apprehension dwindled, Peck took a deep breath and continued. "Instead what I see is we are screwing it up big time; front line unit leaders are shifted every few months – there are very few Teams as stable as yours Sir, and most division and corps commanders are totally out of touch with what is actually going on in country. The mistakes that we made in 1965 we are repeating again and again. But the grunts know, the men, the ones who are there where the fighting is thickest, the valiant men with the rifle squads, platoons and companies well understand Charlie's game. How he darts in, makes us bleed and then runs away. How he's making the War a bloody, protracted affair that frustrates our leaders and wears down the American people. There is nothing worse than suffering in an Asian shit hole when the country we are fighting for doesn't even want us to be here. Fighting at home as well as fighting here."

Peck stopped then, desperately trying to read the emotionless facade that the Colonel's face had become. Had he gone too far? His heart froze when the man finally spoke. "And how have you come by such an unpatriotic impression of the war, Lieutenant?"

Shit! He had blown it big time! But rather than admit defeat, Peck decided to carry on with his thoughts, as he suddenly realised they had been festering angrily inside him for a long time and it felt so good to air his views. He had blown it now anyway so why worry about the consequences?

"I don't think it's unpatriotic – I'm still here aren't I?" he said. "It's the way I see it – all the time I've been here, virtually no senior commanders have spent any time with the GIs to learn the true nature of the war. Instead they live in royal comfort, complete with white-coated servants and sparkling China-set tables, safely away from the killing fields – I've seen it. When a battle does rage, they whirl above it in helicopters making decisions that may have worked in another war, but don't make sense now, not to the men on the ground!" He shook his head. "Is there any wonder that our field officers lack the knowledge or the stature to inspire the men – just look at the example we are set!"

"So you're better off out of it, Lieutenant, safely away from the killing fields servicing Colonel Potter?" Smith's voice was as emotionless as his face.

Peck glanced away, noticed it had gone dark outside and that the office in which he stood was suddenly gloomy but that only accentuated the gleam in the Colonel's eyes.

"No Sir. That's not what I wanted. I asked twice to go back to combat duties. Colonel Potter wouldn't let me. You see I am different from those college dropouts you mentioned earlier in one way; I wasn't drafted, I enlisted. I had no idea what it was like before I got here, I admit it but now that I'm here, I aim to do the best I can. I don't regret being here. It's not about the war, it's about the men here – it's a simple fact of survival."

"And Potter?"

"Potter was a mistake," Peck admitted and then he allowed his smile to lighten the sober atmosphere of the room for the first time since this audience had begun. "But all things happen for a purpose, Sir!" he grinned impishly.

The power of the smile brightened the room and caused the Colonel to sit forward. His voice was strangely unbalanced as he said. "Do you still want to be part of my Team, Lieutenant?"

"More than anything in the world, Sir but….."

"But?"

"I wasn't joking about screwing with your men. I don't see how…"

The Colonel stood up. "Not my problem, Lieutenant. I've seen enough just now to give you the chance you want. Let's just say how you deal with the Team will be the next step in developing your leadership skills." His eyes were beaming again. "I have every confidence that you will talk them round to your way of thinking. Dismissed!"

Peck hesitated. "But I…."

Smith sat down, his eyes moved to the paperwork on his desk. He did not look up. "I said dismissed, Lieutenant!"

Peck turned to leave. As he reached the door Smith's voice came again. "Oh and get your hair cut now, what goes for Colonel Potter is not acceptable in my Team – you're a real soldier now, so you better look like one!"

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Self consciously Peck ran his hand through his hair as he exited the Colonel's office. With his other he searched in his fatigues pocket for his cigarettes. He had just managed to find them and lit one when a voice echoed across the square towards him.

"Sucker! Hey sucker!"

Peck took a long draw on his cigarette as the massive man mountain loomed out of the gloom striding towards him. Peck gulped and cast a vain glance to either side to see if there was anywhere he could run but Baracus was closing the distance between them with a speed that belied his bulk.

Colonel Smith believed he could talk his way out of this and the Colonel knew Baracus better than him but Peck wasn't so sure, especially when the growling assailant got close enough for the Lieutenant to see the violent twist of his dark features.

Trying hard to keep his voice even and warm, Peck lifted his hands in a placating motion, forcing himself to step forward, discarding his cigarette. "Baracus!" he began. "About your stuff, I can explain……."

The big brute hit him with a hand at his throat and another to his gut, and then just kept going, like a massive irresistible tidal wave picking up at piece of beach debris and sweeping it up the shoreline. Peck was forced backwards until the back of his head hit the solid wall of Smith's office with a deep thud. Pain from his neck, his belly and his head exploded through the rest of Peck's body. He blinked trying to see past the stars to the horrifyingly contorted face beyond.

"Where's my money, sucker?" Baracus demanded, banging Peck's head on the wall in time to his words.

Peck's hands went up to ineffectually try to remove Baracus' massive fists from his neck but it was useless. He tried to speak but his voice was as insignificant as his hands and all the time his lungs were screaming for air as a dark, throbbing blackness threatened at the edge of his consciousness.

"We had a deal!" Baracus continued to spit into Peck's rapidly paling face.

"I…." Peck still tried to articulate but even he couldn't hear his own voice – it was just a pathetic groan, as his head banged on the wall once more.

Peck struggled as well as he could but his vision was tinged with scarlet acquiescing to black and he knew that he did not have much time. Baracus' hands pressed tightly around his throat. He was vaguely aware of a strange gurgling that must have been coming from his own throat and his head was thundering.

Deep inside Peck desperately tried to fight but every part of his body seemed to scream in defeat as his heart itself lost strength. The thought that 'it should not end like this' occurred to him when suddenly the grip on Peck's neck loosened and unsupported he fell forward to his knees on the floor, gagging violently, he began to choke as his lungs commenced their action again. He knelt in the dust breathing deeply, retching violently and his body racked with cramping pains as the oxygen flowed around it once more.

Finally he felt strong enough to lift his head but he still had to wait long seconds until his watery eyes managed to focus on the scene in front of him. When they did he saw that Smith and Brenner plus a whole load of other men were holding the still fuming Baracus off of him.

Baracus was still shouting but the Colonel was talking to him softly and the big man's fury seemed to be dissipating. Peck rubbed his neck gingerly as Smith let go of Baracus and moved to stand above the Lieutenant.

"You got a week, Lieutenant," the Colonel said as he reached down to offer his hand. Tentatively Peck took it and was pulled to his feet. He stood, his body shivering with shock, as Smith continued. "I trust you'll be able to deliver?"

Drawing in a deep but weary breath Peck nodded. "Thank you Colonel," his voice was strained and raw.

Smith snorted unsympathetically. "Can't have my cigar supply in jeopardy or the walls of my office for that matter but believe me kid, BA is not a patient man. You better come through this time – he doesn't give second chances!"

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"So what can I give you for a pair, Cathy?" Peck smiled his most flirtatious best.

Nurse Cathy Ryan shook her head slowly. "I've heard some things about you, Lieutenant, but I can't believe that even you would do this!"

"Call me Tem, and it's not what you think, Cathy, honestly. I need them for a friend."

She rolled her eyes suggestively and let out one of the naughtiest giggles Peck had ever heard. "That's what they all say, sweet heart!" she laughed.

"You look to have the most incredibly soft hair," Peck said in full flirt mode, reaching out slowly. "May I?"

"Keep going sweet talker," Cathy licked her lips and moved a little closer to the gorgeous young man in front of her. Sure she knew his reputation with Colonel Potter but she also knew she was never likely to get such an opportunity again and she had seen enough pain and suffering in this godforsaken war to know she had to seize a little fun when it presented itself to her, especially when it came so beautifully wrapped! That didn't mean, however, that she was going to give in easily. She enjoyed the chase as much as the catch and so she giggled and tilted her head slightly as Peck stroked her hair, regarding the blond Lieutenant with a shrewd but growing excitement tingling within her.

"Jeez," he whispered. "I knew it would be so soft." He moved closer too so that they were almost touching. "So do we have a deal?" he asked.

She smiled again and then bobbed forward to kiss him on the lips. He moved his arms down her back to gently envelope her in his warm embrace as his mouth opened and he accepted and then deepened the kiss.

"Tem," she hissed as he gently lowered her backwards so she was lying over her desk. "Not here!"

He moved down and began to undo the buttons of her uniform shirt. "Here's fine," he whispered between sloppy kisses as he bent forwards to run his tongue along her neck and down, his hands reaching behind her to undo the catch of her bra with well practised ease. She let out a gasp as the cooler air hit her liberated breasts and then threw back her head, her hands thrust deep into his hair as he suckled her nipples.

His hands were everywhere, softly caressing, gently massaging and Cathy felt her grasp on reality slipping as he began to play her body with adept skill. She no longer cared where they were, she didn't even know, logical thought flew from her mind like a bird gliding on a soft summer breeze, as pure passion took over.

Peck had always been a talented and caring lover. He guessed it was something to do with the fact that his first sexual experiences had been rough and ready with him always been on the receiving end and he did not want to subject anyone, particularly someone he cared enough about to be intimate with, to such experiences. He was attentive and considerate and he was never so absorbed by his own completion that he roared off selfishly; he waited and took the girl with him, ensuring she found her pleasure before he sought his own. It had always seemed the natural way to behave and though he never wanted any commitment from his partner once the act was completed, well not since Leslie any way, at the moments of its enactment, he cared enough that his lover was his only consideration. He had never received any complaints – except maybe the obvious one that his fiancée had run away from him without a proper explanation. Still he figured that the sex was not the reason Leslie Bectall had left him. In truth he wasn't quite sure what the reason was and he had decided long ago that he would probably never know; even eighteen months later the pain was almost too much for him to bear and so he had left it behind him, exiting the memory like a butterfly leaving its chrysalis.

Cathy now was writhing and groaning beneath him as he gently thrust into the warm wetness of her achingly receptive body. They were kissing again, tongues entwined and dancing and then he felt her stiffen beneath him as her body began to spasm uncontrollably. Peck could feel his own orgasm begin to roll from somewhere deep inside, upwards and out. He clung to her and together they rode the powerful wave of their passion.

"Oh Tem," she whispered softly. "Thank you!" Then she began to giggle infectiously.

He pulled himself up onto his arms as the aftershocks still trembled through him. "What's so funny?" he asked, wondering if he should be offended or pleased.

She reached up and ran her hand down the side of his jaw, laughing wildly.

"What?" he asked again.

She took a deep breath, trying to compose herself but the giggle still glinted in her eyes. "It's just I can't believe I've been fucked by a man more beautiful than I am for a pair of pantyhose in the middle of the goddamn jungle!"

He rolled his eyes and smirked. "I guess it is quite bizarre," he conceded.

"Not quite what I had in mind when I joined up!" she agreed.

"Really?" He eased himself off her and helped her to sit up. "It was exactly what I had in mind! Me; I'm only here to make money and get laid!" he said with a mischievous smile.

She began to re-button her blouse after clipping her bra back in place. She giggled again. "They should put that on recruitment posters," she said. She reached across and gently stroked his cheek. "On second thoughts, maybe they should just put you on the posters, Tem!"

"Naw," Peck had the good grace to look humble. "I think I'd just put people off – give the wrong impression, I usually do!"

Cathy had finished dressing and moved across to look in the mirror on the far wall. She quickly re-arranged her hair back into a ponytail and dabbed disapprovingly at her face. "God I look like I just got laid!" she muttered.

Peck moved to stand behind her. "You look great, Cathy," he smiled. "And you did!"

"Too right I did! Now I guess I better pay up." She moved back to the desk pulled out the bottom left hand drawer and deposited a pair of cellophane wrapped pantyhose into Peck's hand.

Just as she did so the office door opened and Major Polly Parrot entered, her face set in the ugly scowl that was her normal expression. "What's going on here, Captain?" she demanded of Cathy.

Cathy felt herself blush. "Nothing, ma'am," she replied.

The Major's withering glance fell on Peck who was endeavouring to slink to the door while hiding the pantyhose up his sleeve. "What are you doing here, Lieutenant?"

Peck favoured her with his very best smile and was gratified to see an answering glint in the mighty Major's eye – maybe she wasn't such a dragon after all, or maybe the famed Peck charm even worked on fire-breathing reptiles too!

"I just came to check my medical file has been updated Ma'am," he said. Thankful that he had set up the scene earlier before he started to flirt outrageously with Cathy. She took his cue like a true professional and played her part by grasping the file from where it had been discarded on the desk, surreptitiously wiping away with her elbow some semen that had landed on it sometime during their zeal, and adopted a thoroughly professional tone as she thumbed through it.

"Yes, it's correct Lieutenant Peck, you are cleared for combat!"

Peck backed toward the door as he executed a perfect salute. "Thank you, Captain." He turned, "Major!"

"Thank you, Lieutenant," Cathy responded, her eyes twinkling. "Pleased to be of service."

"Goodbye, Lieutenant," Major Parrot said in a knowing tone. "And next time you come sniffing around my nurses please do it when you are off duty!"

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"This a joke?" Baracus growled.

"You got balls, Peck, I'll give you that," Ray Brennan muttered softly as behind him someone giggled tensely.

Baracus slowly pulled himself up from his bunk. "I ain't laughing," he grumbled climbing to his feet menacingly.

"It's no joke, Sergeant." Peck stepped back a little as the mountain advanced on him again. He felt a twinge in his neck where those big hands had tried to crush his windpipe earlier that day. He forced his mouth to keep talking, knowing that if he stopped, his brain would have to take on board the concept that he had done the wrong thing; walking boldly into the A Team's hootch, slamming down his kit bag and asking which one was his cot. Maybe that was slightly risky but to follow it up by presenting Baracus with a pair of pantyhose in front of everyone else just had to be a gross misjudgement. Better to keep talking and stop thinking – trust in his mouth, so he did. "We had a deal, Baracus. I took your money and I didn't supply the goods. I know I screwed up but I want you to know I'll make it right. Take that as just a gift in the meantime."

Baracus glared at him. "A gift!" he spat. "You as crazy as that fool pilot!" He stepped forward.

"Easy, BA," Brennan said mildly but he stood up and moved closer to be able to intervene if necessary as the atmosphere in the hootch tensed perceptively.

Every fibre in Peck's body was screaming for him to run but he fought against the fear, forced his feet to remain rooted to the spot. He knew how important it was for his future with this Team for him to stand his ground, even though Baracus incensed was one of the most frightening sights he had ever seen.

"You dissing me, Peck?" Baracus hissed, his anger simmering but not yet boiling over.

"No way, Sergeant," Peck replied. "You gave me a list of parts you needed for the jeep, right?" The big man nodded warily. "On it was a fan belt. I just got the next best thing, to tide you over, so to speak, until I can source the real thing." He stopped, the confidence suddenly draining from his face. "Oh my god!" he breathed out as if the idea had just come to him. "You didn't think I was giving you pantyhose to … you know … to wear!" He hit his head with the palm of his hand. "Jesus am I stupid or what? I never thought…" He shook his head, seemingly lost for words.

Baracus' eyes had narrowed and he was staring at the man in front of him with disbelief but his anger seemed to be cooling.

Peck continued. "I am so sorry, Sergeant. Man I mean am I dumb? I guess I deserve the beating you were gonna give me, right?" He let out a tight, almost terrified giggle.

Baracus snorted, looked around at the rest of the Team who were all wide-eyed and entranced by the scene. He glanced down at the pantyhose scrunched in his big fist and then he shook his head. He let out a high pitched incongruous chuckle. "Man gave me pantyhose!" he muttered in disbelief. "Me – he gave me pantyhose for ma fan belt!"

Brennan started to laugh too and suddenly the whole hootch descended into near hysterical laughter. Peck silently let out the breath he had been holding throughout the escapade. He looked Baracus in the eye. "I'll get you your stuff, I promise," he said.

The big man wiped a tear from his eye with the back of his hand. "You will," he agreed. "Or you still gonna feel my fist!"

Later Peck slipped out of the hootch for a cigarette. He felt the presence behind him and turned to see Brennan regarding him with a sceptical look on his face.

He offered the other Lieutenant the packet and then lit the cigarette that Brennan took.

"You're real clever, Peck, going into the A Team's home and giving BA Baracus a pair of pantyhose – they'll write songs about this day," Brennan said, his voice was ironic but not unkind. He sniffed dismissively, "But it's gonna take more than a pair of pantyhose to win them over."

Peck blew out a lungful of air. "It's a start," he said.

Brennan nodded. "It is but only that. BA – he's a good man. You play straight with him and he'll protect you to the end but you try and con him and…."

"I understand. I don't aim to con anybody, not on my Team anyway. I been out of circulation for a while but I'm back now and I can help."

Brennan nodded again. "But BA he ain't the worst. There are others in this Team much more dangerous. You need to watch your back. Hannibal needs a good XO - he deserves the best!"

Peck shuffled nervously. "I'm not perfect. I admit that I made some mistakes but I really want to succeed at this. Can I call you Ray?" Brennan nodded so Peck continued. "I didn't want the job; I thought he'd give it to you. I never would have…"

Brennan raised a hand. "Don't lie to me, Peck. You're different to me - I can smell the ambition rolling off you. I just wanted you to know I take things as I see 'em. You and me we got no history, I got no reason not to trust you, let's keep it that way." He threw down the cigarette butt and scrunched it purposefully into the red dirt.

Peck nodded. "Appreciate it, Ray," he said softly and sincerely. "Thanks."

Brennan shrugged. "Hannibal has his reasons and I ain't gonna second guess him – he usually gets things right. I just hope he's right about you!" With that he moved back into the hootch, whistling softly to himself.

Peck sighed as he ran his hand through his still too long hair – man he really didn't want to get it cut! "You and me both, Ray," he muttered. "You and me both!"

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

**THE COLONEL'S BOY**

**Part 3**

"_O! I have lost my reputation! I have lost the immortal part of myself, and what remains is bestial."_

_Othello, 2. 2_

_William Shakespeare_

"You play football, Peck?"

The young Lieutenant squinted as he approached Brennan who was silhouetted by the strong afternoon sun. He nodded. "Some." He disclosed, his eyes impatiently taking in the scene before him and then running on past.

Brennan was lounging at the side of the hastily marked out field that Peck realised he had to cross to get to where he wanted to be. Beside the older man was the long legged lanky form of the pilot, Murdock, who was chewing on a toothpick, watching the game intently, his seemingly ever present baseball hat at a roguish angle.

Ignoring Peck's need to be elsewhere and the obvious discomfort it brought him, Brennan pulled himself to his feet to stand in front of the shorter man. "Really?" he replied. "Where'd you play?"

Peck opened his mouth to reply but he was beaten to it by a Texan drawl, dripping with sarcasm from behind Brennan. "Pin-up boy like him just had to be a quarterback, eh Peck?" Murdock kept his eyes firmly on the game. "College scholarship, I expect."

"As a matter of fact…" Peck snapped, as his anger began to prickle dangerously.

"Quarterback! Is that right?" Brennan butted in, trying to head off the friction he sensed was sparking between these two prickly youngsters.

"Yes it is," Peck finally managing to bite back the sharp retort he wanted to reply but then he couldn't resist the chance to brag, "At St. Mary's High School, I was an all-city football champion as the team quarterback, actually!"

"I knew it!" Murdock spat out shaking his head slowly. "Bet you got all the action there too, didn't ya?"

"Do you have a problem with me, Murdock?" Peck growled, trying to step around Brennan's bulk to get to the pilot.

Murdock agilely sprang to his feet, throwing away the toothpick with inappropriate violence. "Yeah, I do, actually!" he spat back, eyes blazing defiantly.

"Cool it, boys!" Brennan resolutely stood his ground between the two fuming men. "Jesus - you got all this aggression; you should be getting rid of it in the game out there!"

"Ain't no one on the field I want to hit!" Murdock snarled. "Not like pretty boy Peck here!"

"Any time, Murdock. You want to try, come on take a piece of me! Just try it!"

"What? You really going to fight me?" Murdock let out a humourless chuckle. "Surely that ain't your style – can't risk that pretty face. I thought you preferred to hide behind your CO or just steal the girl with you lying, cheap tongue!" Murdock tried to rush forward.

"No one's fighting anybody!" Brennan spat as he raised his hands and pushed the two men apart. "You two need to sort this out but not by fighting."

"You're right," Peck stepped backwards, running his hand over his recently cropped hair as he won the battle with his temper. "I don't have time for this shit!"

"Coward!" Murdock spat, his anger still flaming starkly.

"Oh grow up, Murdock!" Peck spat back. "Just cos you didn't get the girl, just cos she chose me! Can I help it if she just had good taste? If it helps get you over it, she's wasn't too hot, anyway!"

Murdock lunged forward, desperate to get at the object of his wrath. "You conceited little prick! You just don't get it do you?"

Peck's smile was awesome in its arrogance. "But I do, Captain, I do! You're just pissed cos you don't!" He shook his head, then neatly side-stepped around the other two men and made to continue on his way.

"Why you….!"

"Leave it, Murdock," Brennan said, his voice tender but his hands still firmly gripping the pilot's furiously shuddering shoulders as he fought to follow Peck's rapidly retreating form. "He ain't worth it."

"He's an arrogant, thieving, son of a bitch!" Murdock yelled at the top of his lungs.

From his position some yards across the pitch as he dodged the game, which had actually come to an unscheduled stop as players paused to watch the far more interesting exchange happening between the two officers, Peck lifted his hand and flicked the middle finger up at the pilot.

Murdock snorted. "Bastard!" he breathed his anger was cooling as the irritant moved away from him. Feeling the pilot's muscles relax, Brennan let go of him.

"OK?" he asked supportively.

Murdock drew in a long breath, and nodded neurotically. "I'm cool," he replied finally with a vague smile.

"What is it with you guys, anyway?" Brennan asked. Murdock shrugged and looked down at his feet which appeared to be shuffling in the dirt independent of him. "I've never seen you get so uptight – you're normally the sociable one!"

Murdock's eyes rose but were elusive. "He gets under my skin. I never met such a selfish, excruciating little ….." Murdock stopped. "I can't believe you tolerate him Ray – he's wearing that first lieutenant bar that should have been yours."

"Stop right there, HM!" Brennan's face lost its sympathy and became uncompromisingly grave. "It was the Colonel's decision; I don't want you questioning that. Give the kid a chance – he got BA's stuff didn't he?"

"Six weeks later than he promised!" Murdock argued.

"Be fair he did have other things on his mind for a time."

"He was screwing his CO for god sake! How the hell can you defend him, Ray?"

"I'm not defending him but I do believe in Hannibal. Hell, look at all of us in the Team, we're all misfits, all bad boys here. The Colonel, he gave us a chance when nobody else would. He saw something that nobody else did. Are you questioning Hannibal's judgement, HM?"

The young pilot's face was instantly wracked by the implication of the older man's words. "You know I wouldn't do that," he said in horror.

Ray nodded. "Then you have to give Peck a chance."

Murdock bit his lip as he considered, then he gave a curt nod of his head in resigned agreement. "Maybe I'll go play football now," he muttered.

"Sure, HM," Brennan smiled. "Reckon our boys need a little help."

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Peck shook his head. Just what the hell was wrong with that guy anyway? Sure he had stolen a girl from underneath the pilot's nose but it was hardly as if she was his wife or anything. She had just been a girl, easy prey and if he hadn't taken her then some other good looking grunt would have just stepped in. He hadn't forced it either, the girl had chosen for herself and from what Peck could remember, she had been as up for the one night stand as he had. So if Murdock was so goddamn in love with her why had he let Peck take her and why the hell hadn't he fought for her?

Anyway the whole thing was over and done with long ago, why the hell was Murdock still clinging to an insignificant event that had happened many weeks before? It didn't make any sense but Peck knew he wasn't going to waste any more time pondering on it. If Murdock wanted to behave like an asshole, so be it, Peck had better things to do with his time. He had an appointment right now and he glanced at his watch. "Shit," he muttered, he was late already.

He quickened his pace across the parade square, pushing all thoughts of the crazy pilot from his mind. He had a deal to make, one in a long line of business he had lined up over the previous few days. Procurement was going good, he had got Baracus' stuff and though the big man had only growled his thanks, Peck got the feeling he had been impressed. He sighed, wishing that the rest of his life was as easy as scamming.

Being first lieutenant of Hannibal's team was as difficult as he feared and it certainly wasn't going as well as he had hoped. They had a mission coming up in the next few days and had spent most of the time training and on the ranges in preparation. The Team were perfect when the Colonel was there, smart, disciplined and shit hot but as soon as Smith made himself absent and Peck was left in charge they became the most reticent bunch of apes he had ever come across. They didn't listen to him, they certainly didn't follow his orders, indeed it appeared that to them he simply did not exist, they simply acted as if no leader was present.

He had managed to get his message across on a few times by using Brennan, who all the other guys respected and rated and who had been amazingly supportive considering Peck had stolen his place. Peck feared what would happen when they went in country, when decisions meant life or death and commands had to be followed. Concerned and unsure of his next move, he had tried to discuss his inability to lead the Team with the Colonel, but Smith had just smiled, lit a cigar and moved away saying. "Your hair's better now – at least you look the part, kid!"

Peck stopped his thoughts as he neared the office he was heading for, aware that he was no closer to finding a solution. He was somewhat startled to feel a hand clasp hold of his shoulder painfully and spin him around. His mind went back to the earlier altercation. "For god sake Murdock…!" he began but stopped when his eyes were met by the face, not of the lanky pilot, but a bigger, uglier, unknown man. "What the hell…" He never finished the sentence as a gun butt smashed down on to the back of his head, and oblivion claimed him before his lifeless body pole-axed into the dust.

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"Get up, Peck!"

It was the voice from his nightmares and Peck refused to listen to it as his mind slowly came back to awareness. His head was thumping out an awful tattoo and he felt nauseous. Desperately he tired to flee back into the safety of the black oblivion that had just left him.

But the voice would not be denied. It came again, pinched with impatience as it drilled into his consciousness. "I said get up!"

Peck felt the tightening of hands on his collar and then he was moving upwards. He groaned and opened his eyes to the much too bright reality before him. Someone propped him up on shaky legs and his hand went to the sticky bump on the back of his head, the apparent source of the drumming.

He swallowed back the bile that rushed up his throat as his eyes finally focused on the uniform before him and its hated wearer – Colonel Potter!

The Colonel was staring at Peck with a satisfied glint in his eye. "Glad you finally saw fit to follow my orders, Peck," he growled. "Now get to attention!"

Even the slight movement needed to comply caused another rush of sickness to wash through him but Peck ignored it and forced himself to assume the pose, although the world seemed to sway horribly as he stood motionless. Potter glared at him and the increasingly complacent glint in his eyes was setting off all of Peck's alarm bells. It did not take him long to find out why the Colonel was so damn smug.

Potter turned to an MP beside him. "Search him," he ordered.

Within seconds the MP was withdrawing his hand from Peck's tunic pocket, clutching a bag filled with white powder. Peck's nausea quadrupled as his stomach did an acrobatic double flip. He closed his eyes and shook his head slowly

"Oh what do we have here, Lieutenant?" Potter's haughty voice spouted triumphantly as he dipped a podgy finger into the powder and licked it. "China white I believe. You have been a naughty boy. Cuff him!"

Peck snorted, considered putting up a fight but decided against it as the two MPs that were accompanying Potter seemed to be directly related to mountain gorillas! Roughly they pulled his hands behind his back and clicked the handcuffs closed.

Potter regarded him. "You disappoint me, Peck, no words of wisdom, nothing to say?"

"Would it do me any good?"

Potter's smile was evil. "Of course not. I just wanted to hear you whine one last time! It brings back pleasant memories to me of when you were just so much more submissive." He took a step closer and then hissed in the blond's ear. "You should have never left me, boy. I still don't know how Smith got your transfer so quickly but be assured; if I can't have you, no one can!"

Peck shook his head. "I'm glad to see you still have your priorities right, Sir - why let the good of the army get in the way of your own selfish need?"

"The good of the army! My, you have got arrogant since you teamed up with Smith. Well let me set you straight right now – you're nothing, Peck and no one gives a damn about you. You are going to rot and no one, not even the great Colonel Smith, is going to save you now. Do you know his opinion on drugs?"

"I can imagine it," Peck replied softly. He would not give this man the satisfaction of seeing how affected he really was.

Potter guffawed maliciously. "Old school, Colonel Smith, doesn't hold with the lack of discipline in this man's army. I once heard him wax lyrical about what he would do to any of his men he found with drugs." Potter beamed. "I hope he sells tickets when he does it to you – that would be a sight to see!"

"There's only one thing wrong with your plan, Colonel," Peck said.

Potter sighed. "And that is?"

"I'm innocent!"

"Innocent! Don't make me laugh, Peck, you were born guilty! And who is really going to believe someone with your reputation anyway?" He chuckled then. "You should have stuck with me, kid!"

Peck snorted and rolled his eyes. "You know, all things considered, I think I'd rather rot in a prison cell. At least I got a little of my dignity back!"

Potter slapped him across the face then in a girlish gesture which none the less caused Peck's head to lurch backwards and an angry, red welt to appear on his cheek. The Colonel's eyes were suddenly cold and his tone acidic as he turned back to the MP. "Take him to the brig," he ordered.

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"You better start talking and you better start talking quick, kid." Hannibal leaned back on the rickety prison chair, his eyes unblinkingly staring at Peck. "You're in deep shit, Lieutenant! Give me one good reason why I shouldn't just walk away from you right now."

Peck was sitting at the other side of the equally unstable table. He had been engaged in a particularly punishing exercise routine when the Colonel had entered the cell block. His booted feet had been propped up on the side of his cot, his muscles rippling, he had been doing push ups. Peck had stopped immediately the Colonel had entered, grabbed a towel and sat where his commanding officer indicated. Dressed in his fatigue pants and a khaki vest, the sweat stains were still clearly visible beneath his arms and down his back but after a few seconds his obvious fitness had won through and he was breathing normally. Still there was no escape from the sweltering heat in the gloomy cramped cell block; the dampness seemed to seep into everything as the hot air hung stiflingly complacent around them.

Peck sighed in resignation. He lifted his head from where it rested on his hands to look at the Colonel. Smith could tell the kid had known this meeting would happen, probably even guessed what Smith would say to him. It had been two hours since the Lieutenant had been brought here and Smith wondered how many times he had played this scene over in his mind. It didn't matter, for the Colonel could tell from the slump of his shoulders that Peck was no nearer to coming up with an answer that could save him.

"How about we start with whether you did it," Smith said, sucking on his cigar expectantly.

"You think I did?"

"Spare me the indignation, Lieutenant!" Smith cut across him. "I know your track record, remember. I know you're far from angelic and I know that you are very good at 'procuring' just about anything."

"Not drugs," Peck's eyes widened imploringly.

Smith leaned back. "Convince me, Lieutenant."

Peck placed his hands down on the table, took a deep breath. "Back in the world, in my orphan… school, I've seen too many friends…. well, acquaintances, turn into dope-heads, lose whatever chance they had." He licked his lips nervously. "Guys like me don't get many chances – got to do something with the ones we get, so I made myself a promise. No matter what the deal, what the temptation, I don't touch drugs, don't use 'em and I certainly don't push 'em to anybody else."

His voice was hard and firm as he too leaned back, holding the Colonel's intimidating stare unflinchingly.

The Colonel only just managed to control the quiver of excitement that rushed through him - there it was again! That look! It came when the kid was serious, when he let the hunger glint in his eyes. It sent the Colonel back to another time, another war and the knot in his guts squeezed just a little more tightly. Michael. The name he had banished to the back of his memory so many years ago. It was the look in the eye of this kid that tore down all these carefully built walls and pulled the pain back to the very forefront of his consciousness; the longing, the loss so deep it was a physical ache. Hannibal snorted. Michael. But this kid wasn't Michael, he was so very different from the gentle, naïve and weak young man Hannibal had loved so very long ago.

Funny the way memory worked! Hannibal found since that he had met Peck he was unable to recall Michael's face in his mind, now when he tried the much loved features were simply overlaid by those of the overconfident conman before him. What did it mean? Had he finally laid Michael's ghost to rest forever? Did he owe Peck for that service at least?

It didn't matter, Smith told himself. He had seen the echo of Michael in the kid and that was what had first entranced him but it was more than that initial whim now. Smith had put his own reputation on the line, taken Peck in – he had almost as much to lose as his Lieutenant did in this. Had he allowed the ghost of Michael to impair his normally impeccable judgement?

The truthful answer was he did not know, not at this point anyway. He needed to concentrate, find out more about the blond. Peck had impressed him so far – how could he not be amazed when Brennan had told him about the gift of pantyhose to BA? And the kid was obviously no quitter, his stubborn resolve to succeed as the first lieutenant was testament to that. He was coming across as a competent soldier – Smith had been anxious to get him in country to see just how he performed when the pressure was on. The Colonel had seen nothing that didn't indicate that Peck had it in him to win his Team over and be a half decent executive officer……. until today.

The fact that this involved drugs brought a further unwelcome resonance of Michael but Smith forced it away. It wasn't fair to plant Michael's sins on Peck – hell, the kid had more than enough of his own! Smith forced himself to look deep into those eyes currently beseechingly blue – Peck looked sincere enough, but that was part of the performance, of course.

Smith sighed, deciding on another form of attack. "What would you do if you got the chance, kid? What are you looking for?"

Peck lifted his eyebrows a little, surprised by the question. "World domination," he quipped and then smiled. "I got a whole lot of plans," he disclosed. "You wouldn't believe what I want to do."

"Try me."

"Lots of things, but how about this one?" Peck stood up, suddenly animated. "This place has got such potential – a captive audience. You ever been to the Beverly Bay Country Club in LA, Colonel?"

Smith shook his head, amused by the enthusiasm of hope that flamed in the young man before him in this most incongruent of places. "Can't say I have."

"Well, my folks used to take me there a lot," Peck began. If he noticed the twitch of disbelief in the Colonel at this statement, Peck ignored it as he continued. "I want to set up an Officer/NCO club, call it something like, I don't know, the DMV Tennis and Racket Club, patterned after the Beverly Bay Country Club. Reckon I could do it too."

Smith's eyes narrowed. "In Vietnam, what the hell for?"

Peck sat back down but his body strung tight and shuddering involuntarily with excitement. "I reckon the men here deserve it." Smith looked at him sceptically and Peck laughed boyishly. "But for the money for us too, of course!" he beamed.

Smith shook his head in disbelief. "And how the hell do you propose to set it up?"

Peck's smile was stunning. "I got some contacts. Don't think it would be that hard."

Maybe there was more similarity with Michael than Smith had given Peck credit for – he certainly was revealing a boyish enthusiasm totally at odds with the cynical conman role he normally played. But was it all part of the act, Smith asked himself?

Well the Colonel had been looking for someone with the imagination and vision to lead. This little display certainly proved Peck had something but could it be focused and channelled into delivering military objectives?

"Lieutenant, are you bulling me?"

Peck shook his head. "No, Sir. Why would I do that? I think I'm in enough trouble already, Sir!"

Smith sucked on his cigar a little more. "The DMV Tennis and Racket Club." He shook his head slowly. "You don't say!"

The Lieutenant nodded but then the verve visibly leeched out of him as quickly as it had come. His eagerness gone, he was serious. "I didn't do it, Colonel. I wouldn't do it."

"Then what happened, soldier?"

Peck gulped as the indecision ran across his face. Smith knew the Lieutenant was yet again contemplating what he should say. Finally with a petulant pout he whined. "I was set up, man."

"And you know by whom?" Smith pressed.

"Potter."

Smith nodded. "I suspected as much. He's a scum bag and this little escapade has his stench all over it. I thought he let you go too easily."

"I don't see why," Peck looked miffed. "He had no reason to doubt - those orders I faked for you were damn near perfect!"

"Got to admit they were good but," Hannibal shook his head. "Should have seen Potter's wrath coming! So what do we do now?"

Peck shrugged. "I was kind of hoping you might have an idea."

"You could always tell the truth."

Peck guffawed humourlessly. "And change the habit of a lifetime - I don't think so Colonel. I mean who is going to believe me?"

"I believe you, Lieutenant."

"And you got to know that means a lot to me but, with respect, Sir, I hardly think that you are typical of the sort of officer who is likely to hear my court martial."

Hannibal beamed. "I take that as a compliment, kid." He reached across and offered the Lieutenant a cigar.

"It was meant to be one, Colonel." Peck matched his smile as he accepted the smoke. He leant forward as Smith lit it for him, inhaled and then desperately tried to subdue the cough the powerful fumes forced into his lungs. Truth to tell he had never had a cigar before but he didn't want to reveal that to the Colonel.

Smith sat back, ignoring the slight green tinge that developed across Peck's features and the choking that the kid was managing to suppress into a mere rumble of coughing. "You know, I was beginning to think I made a mistake with you but I think you are gonna do just fine."

"Thank you, Sir but I don't see how." Peck managed to get the words out without wheezing too obviously.

"Don't see how what?"

Peck threw his arms in the air in frustration and took the opportunity to dump the cigar – he could tell that they were going to take some getting used to. "I'm in the brig, on a charge, remember, Sir!"

Smith's eyes twinkled with mischief. "Oh, don't worry about that kid – I got a plan!"

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"Just shut the hell up!"

Peck tried again to bring order to the proceedings but just like every other time he was completely ignored. He stared angrily about the room.

Baracus and Tray were discussing yet again the merits of their respective football teams. But being the type of men they were 'discussing' meant physically intimidating each other by standing as close together nose to nose as they possibly could without inhabiting the same skin and growling loudly. Lowrie, Pod, Willie and Baker were watching the performance and chuckling. They had seen it all before but found it infinitely more interesting than anything else that was on offer. Besides they knew it would piss the hell out of their new Lieutenant, which of course just added to the fun.

Hernandez was slouched at the back of the room, deeply engrossed in his latest porn magazine and making accompanying comments as he turned the pages excitedly. Luther sat beside him, trying to lean over the Mexican's shoulder to get a look at the titillating sights but Hernandez kept cursing loudly and pushing him away.

Brennan sat at the front, smoking a cigarette and shaking his head slowly at Peck's efforts to control the Team. Next to him sat Caleb the FNB radio operator. Just recently arrived the wide eyed kid had a look of discomfort that seemed to indicate he needed someone to change his diapers! He shuffled nervously and his gaze ranged across the room as if he didn't know where he should look.

"I won't tell you again!" Peck spat as he banged his hand down on the table. It didn't matter. Whatever he did he would be ignored. It had gotten worse since his arrest and time spent in the brig. The Colonel had got him out and the charges dropped, Peck still didn't know how and, though, he continually questioned Smith, the wily Colonel simply smiled his enigmatic smile and refused to tell. But the men knew of course. He knew that they had taken to calling him the 'Pretty Pusher' and though nothing was said to his face, he felt their eyes continually boring in to him. Eyes filled with contempt and loathing. Eyes belonging to men who knew that he was not worthy of their company and certainly was never going to be a creditable leader of them.

Jesus - he felt like some incompetent and inept school teacher desperately trying to get a class of delinquents to listen to him. With a dooming certainty he knew it was never going to happen, so why the hell didn't he just face the facts? Why didn't he just walk away? Not back to Potter, no way, but back to his old company or some other one, where didn't really matter. He could still pass as a decent soldier. He didn't need any of this shit!

And then, just as he reached his lowest ebb, just when he saw the bleak reality, Colonel Smith glided into the room and everything changed. The silence was sudden and complete as everyone stood to attention, a group of soldiers once more, an A Team, no **the** A Team. And Colonel Smith smiled complacently behind his unlit cigar. "Stand easy gentlemen," he beamed. "We have our orders. It's time we went out to play."

He turned to regard the man standing beside him, eyes twinkling with mischief. "Lieutenant Peck, the map, please."

Peck moved to obey immediately, fighting back a wave of bitter regret - why couldn't it always be this way? Peck bit back his sigh, he knew the answer; because it only happened in the presence of this grey-haired, cigar smoking, eye twinkling man, this leader.

Throughout the briefing Peck watched from the side lines, taking in the information but sulkily silent as the men interacted, sharing with each other the jokes and the intelligent comments, the banter and the camaraderie; just wishing that he could be a part of it, could be one of the Team, really. He realised that he had never wanted anything in his whole life as much as he wanted this.

And in seeing it the cynicism in his conman's soul perceived that it could never be.

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"I want out."

Colonel Smith's eyes narrowed as he regarded the young Lieutenant standing before him.

"I've tried so hard." Peck continued, needing to fill in the silence that lurched between them like a vast, gapping chasm, needing to justify himself. "It's not going to happen."

Smith snorted, the anger flashing in his eye. "Then try harder!" he growled.

"I can't!" Peck spat back his frustration turning to anger.

The Colonel stood up and the affable supportive officer of previous experience was gone, instead Peck face a hard, intractable Colonel. "You told me you wanted this!" he snarled angrily.

"I do!"

"Well obviously not bad enough. Don't you know that you have to fight for anything of value in this life, kid? You get nothing for nothing."

Peck flexed his fists at his side angrily, fighting to retain his composure. "Yes, I damn well know that, Sir. I've fought for every little thing I've ever got in my whole life. I'm not afraid to fight!"

"Then why the hell are you running away now?"

"Because…"

"Because it's hard? Because it's not going the way you thought it would? Because my men are not the pussy cats you thought them to be. Because you are a coward?"

"No, I am not, Sir!"

The two men had been gravitating towards each other, nostrils flaring and eyes spitting with fury but the Colonel sighed and pulled back. "Then prove it to me, Lieutenant. Damn well fight like you never have before. I put my butt on the line for you not once but twice and I will continue to do that but you have to give back to me in return. Those men back there, my Team, are the best of the best and not only do they know it, they are damn proud of it. Why the hell should they let someone like you just walk in and give them orders? No, you have to win their respect; you have to goddamn fight for it. We're going out tomorrow zero dark thirty and that is the real test. In here, what you do, who you screw, how you are, doesn't matter a damn – it's out there; it's how you act and react. It's how you lead them and look after them and bring them home – that's what's important. And tomorrow you are going to prove to them and to me but most of all to yourself, that you are a valued member of this Team and a fucking good First Lieutenant. Do I make myself clear?"

Peck gulped, his anger seeping away. "You still believe I can do it?"

"Do you still want it?"

"More than anything else in the whole world, Sir!"

"Then nothing else really matters, kid. Hold on to it. Keep such a goddamn tight hold of it your fingers bleed and your heart hurts but still don't let go. Hold on to that dream as tightly as you can. If you do that then I know you can do it."

Peck gulped again. "Thank you, Sir." His voice wavered.

"What for, soldier?"

"For believing in me, for…" Peck stopped, all of his attention fixed on forcing back the sobs that were inexplicably threatening to escape him.

"Stop right there soldier, this is the goddamn Fifth Special Forces, you want to get all emotional on me, you are in the wrong place!"

"Sorry, Sir. It won't happen again Sir!"

"Goddamn right, it won't! Now get out – we got a long day tomorrow!"

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Peck sniffed back the tears and agitatedly scrubbed away the moisture from his eyes as he left the Colonel's company. He felt tired, exhausted, wrung out and he wasn't sure he was going to find the energy to get through the next couple of days.

His mind went back to the briefing of earlier. At least he knew where they were going - the A Shau Valley, located in Thua Thien Province near the Laotian border. Since the major offensive the year before everyone knew the name; the place had acquired a fearsome reputation for soldiers and the Colonel had filled them in with more; it was an area that was critical to the North Vietnamese since it was the conduit for supplies, additional troops, and communications for units of the NVA and Vietcong operating in the area. Because of its importance it was defended vigorously by the enemy and it had been the target of repeated major operations by allied forces, especially the U.S. 101st Airborne Division.

The Team had been unimpressed by the assignment and Brennan had got a laugh by recalling he thought he had heard other jarheads calling it the 'Ah Shit Valley'!

The Colonel had smiled indulgently but the humour had left his face as quickly as it had come. He had continued his briefing; they were on a reconnaissance mission only. They needed to cut the supply line in preparation a further operation the 101st Airborne were planning to launch later in the year. The Team were to find the exact location of a bridge along the Rao Lao River. The bridge was essential to the supply line and relatively safe from detention from anything airborne because of the deep mists that constantly shrouded the valley. Once the coordinates were found, they were to call in an air-strike and then beat the hell out of there.

Piece of cake, the Colonel had said, though it was a four day mission – two in, two out - they would be back for chow in camp before they knew it. Peck wasn't so sure but had not voiced his concerns chiefly because his mind was too focused on his own failure to make an impact on the Team and his decision to get out while he could but also because he did not feel it was his place as executive officer to question his orders. He was gratified that in his audience with the Colonel, Smith had not resorted to bringing up the mission but now it was over and his decision to carry on was made, his thoughts went back to the mission and he was deeply troubled.

He knew about the A Shau valley because he had been there before. Rushing back to his mind came the memories of that earlier mission - dark, imposing jungle, leech infested streams, jungle cliffs, meagre, meandering animal trails covered with rotted tree roots, 60-degree slopes, 140 varieties of poisonous snakes or so one of the wags in his platoon had taken great delight in pronouncing at monotonously regular intervals, the most unusual insects in the world, and jungle so dense at the bottom of the ridge lines that you could not see more than a few feet in front of you. Oh yes, Peck remembered the beautiful A Shau Valley and he didn't believe that anything in that place could be as easy as the Colonel was making out.

He shuddered in the warmth of the gathering dusk. It always happened so quickly in Nam, night came, day left, almost in a blink of an eye. Night and day… life and death; so quick, so final, so gone. Names and faces of the men he had entered the A Shau Valley with last time flashed through his mind then, men who were never coming out. Gone, lost to the bleak, empty night.

"Shit!" he muttered, pulling out his cigarettes and forcing his hand to stop shaking. Of all the places on the planet he could live without ever seeing again, A Shau was pretty near the top of the list. But he was going back. He had given his word to his Colonel and he would never renege on that. And was he scared? Of course he was, scared shitless to be truthful. Frightened by the memories, frightened by what was to come but more than ever afraid that though he was going out there as part of a Team, in effect he would be very much alone; more likely to be fragged by his men than killed by Charlie! It was a terrifying thought.

Finishing the cigarette he moved towards the latrines. On entering the building he wished he had not.

"Well, well if it isn't the Colonel's boy!"

Peck tensed. There were at least four marines from Potter's platoon using the facilities, and at the comment from the one nearest, they all turned to leer at him. Peck's heart sank. This was really too much – there was so much rushing around his head already without being forced to cope with this. He backed away, raising his hands. "I don't want any trouble," he mumbled.

"Too bad!" The first marine moved quickly to step behind Peck and thus block his exit. "Cos I heard you're giving it away."

"You heard wrong," Peck spat. He took a deep breath, squared his shoulders and raised his fists, seeing that he had no alternative but to defend himself.

The first marine laughed lecherously. "Oh doesn't she look sweet? We like a fighter, don't we boys?" The others moved in behind him, muscles bristling.

Peck put up as much of a fight as he could managing to land a few decisive blows before a left hook to his jaw, sent him reeling into strong arms that clasped hold of his own and pulled them painfully behind his back. A voice hissed in his ear, "You think you won, little whore, but we've got a painful message for you from Colonel Potter."

Peck struggled but he could not break the hold and so he had little opportunity to do anything else but tense as he waited for the blows to land on his vulnerable stomach. But it never happened. Instead there was a commotion at the door, he tried to turn but the strong arms pushed him forwards and he was skidding on his knees, to be stopped by his head hitting the hut wall. He groaned loudly as all hell broke lose behind him.

It was all over very soon. The four burly marines were beaten soundly and thrown out of the john so that they fell into a grunting untidy heap of arms and legs in the dust outside. With a groan Peck sat on the floor, rubbing his throbbing jaw, his eyes wide with disbelief as BA, Brennan and Murdock returned to stand before him. Brennan smiled and offered his hand which the other Lieutenant accepted and groggily climbed to his feet.

"Thanks," he muttered. "But I don't understand."

Brennan shook his head. "I think you owe us a drink, kid!"

"Sure, no sweat, anything!" Peck enthused. He moved forward and hugged Brennan. Then he stepped towards Murdock but the pilot raised his hands and stepped back awkwardly. "I was just on the way to the OC," he muttered and left abruptly.

Peck watched him leave and then turned back to Brennan and gulped. "I don't understand," he repeated.

"C'mon man," Brennan laughed, throwing his hand area the blond's shoulders. "We're out in the boonies early tomorrow; not much time for drinking so lets get started now!"

As they moved out into the open air again, Baracus growled from beside them. "It's simple, man!" You an asshole, sure, but you our asshole!"

Peck rolled his eyes and tried to stutter a reply but for one of the very first times in his life he was actually lost for words. The one thing he did realise was that what he faced on the morrow did not seem nearly as bad as he had feared only minutes earlier!

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

Warning: Faceman suffers severe physical distress in this chapter, so don't read if you are squeamish. Me – I love it!

Apology: It would appear for some reason unknown to the author Ray Brenner became Ray Brennan in the last few chapters – I have no idea why this happened (I only write this stuff after all!) Please be assured they are one in the same person and normal service has been resumed in this chapter without any of the other characters even noticing the change! Amazing that!

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**THE COLONEL'S BOY**

**Part 4**

"_O! I have lost my reputation! I have lost the immortal part of myself, and what remains is bestial."_

_ Othello, 2. 2_

_ William Shakespeare_

A piece of cake… a piece of goddamn cake!

The Colonel's words rolled around Peck's head like a mocking critic. He'd seen easy patrols in his time and this sure as hell was not one of them!

It had started disastrously and just got a whole lot worse. They should have known when, only ten minutes after the drop, young newbie Caleb stood on a booby trap and blew himself into a thousand little pieces, a good number of which seemed to land on Peck who had been the nearest to him and was thrown off his feet by the force of the explosion. Caleb wasn't going to need his diapers changing anymore that was for sure and he had not only blow himself to bits but also the radio with which the Team was supposed to communicate the coordinates of the bridge to be blown up by the waiting B52s.

Smith's mouth had faded into a tight line as he looked down on the remains of his man. He muttered sadly, took out a cigar and then shook his head. "We keep going," he had said simply.

Peck got to his feet behind him and gasped. "But…" he started.

Smith turned to him. "You have a problem, Lieutenant?" he asked, eyes sparkling all the more through of the grime and dirt on his face.

Rubbing away the gore that had landed on his own features, Peck had nodded. "How the hell are we going to get the coordinates called in?" he asked.

"We're not!" Smith beamed. "Change of plan!"

"What?"

"We're going to blow it ourselves!" the Colonel's eyes were positively glowing. "You got a problem with that, Lieutenant?"

A problem? Of course he had a problem – a whole goddamn list in fact! They only had a dozen claymores between them and no other explosives, blowing it meant getting close to it, rather than just peering at it while noting the coordinates from the relative safety of the jungle. Plus it would take up a hell of a lot more time and as they were working a tight deadline, they risked missing their pick up.

Peck sighed and pushed his helmet back off his head so he could rub his hand nervously through his hair. He saw the danger sure but Colonel Smith seemed to be oblivious to it all. He was standing there like some mad professor in a demented experiment just daring Peck to say something. But what could he say? He was a goddamn soldier after all, so he bit back his fears and simply shook his head. "No, Sir."

Smith's smile widened until it almost cracked his jaw. "Good, well come on then, kid!"

That had been two days ago and since then they had been humping their way up this godforsaken valley. It was just as evil as Peck recalled. As they waded up the streams the leaches had clung to any part of their bodies below the water line, and a high percentage of those 'most unusual insects in the world' appeared to be desperate to suck human blood; Peck dreaded coming across the snakes!

It was hot and sticky but overhung by a veil of grey, depressing mist that sometimes fell as a fine rain. And the vegetation was so dense it clung to Peck as he tried to pass, pulling him back, clawing away his energy and sapping his will in a parasitic embrace. And always the threat of a trip wire, some other booby trap or who knew what out there in the darkness…. silently waiting.

Peck scratched his nose, tetchily wafting away the circling insects. He was the slack man; second in a patrol, behind the point that on this occasion was Tray who was some way ahead but the jungle was so dense Peck did not know whether he was miles or metres in front.

The feeling of impending doom matched with the physical discomfort meant Peck's mind was wondering, searching for an escape from this place, and he found himself back in the OC the night before the mission started. BA, as an NCO, had not accompanied them, returning to the hootch for his favoured milk instead. Brenner had stayed for a couple of drinks and then excused himself, which left Peck alone with Murdock.

The young pilot was on a couple of days leave and so had indulged in a skin-full of beer. Peck, who had been significantly more circumspect with his consumption since he knew he was only going to get a couple of hours sleep at best before going in country, was more than a little anxious at the thought of spending time with the obviously still annoyed man. Still he thought he should at least try to patch over the problems.

"Murdock, I know we didn't…."

The pilot snorted dismissively. "Just cos you're a bad boy, that don't fool me, Peck." His voice was slurred and instead of looking at the other man he seemed to have found something tremendously interesting in his beer. "We're all bad boys here. BA, he's been in the brig more times than any one else on this whole damn base and Hernandez he should have been shipped home on a Section 15. Baker and Tray have both had their asses busted and lost stripes, even good ol' Ray slugged his commanding officer. You, you're just a wise assed little grunt – nobody cares about you. You ain't special!"

Ignoring the put down, Peck tried again. "What about you Murdock – you're a good pilot I hear."

"Too good. Half the teams won't trust me to fly 'em cos they're scared I get 'em into areas that they shouldn't be going into and certainly won't get out from!"

Peck let out a slightly amused snort. "I've wanted to talk to you for awhile. I know we got off badly but I didn't know, Murdock. I honestly didn't know that you and…. that you wanted the girl. I wouldn't have done it if you'd just sort of marked out your territory… ..let me know… you know what I'm saying?"

"That's not why I'm upset." Murdock was clinging to the bar to stop himself from sliding off his stool.

"Then why? Cos you've been pissed with me ever since and before I thought we were sort of OK. I don't get it, Murdock!"

Murdock snorted. "You're right about one thing, Peck you don't get it. It wasn't you I was jealous of, I didn't want the girl! I was jealous of the goddamn girl for having you!"

"What!"

Murdock had looked up at him then, eyes bleary. "You heard me and I ain't saying it again!" He let go of the bar, slid onto the floor and managed to keep his feet. "Now, if you'll excuse me I'm going to bed and you should too, kid – you got a big day tomorrow!"

And that had been it. Peck had insisted that he help Murdock to his quarters but the pilot had been equally adamant that he was not going to talk about his disclosure any further. And now Peck found himself very alone in a big, hostile jungle and wondering if he would ever get the chance to discuss it again and whether he even wanted to go down that road at all.

Suddenly Peck tensed, his attention drawn back to the present. Something was wrong, his hesitation, brought about by some internal sense of danger, probably saved his life. Tray, out front at point did not have similar luck, or warning and it was the muffled sound of his death that Peck picked up as a VC cut the unsuspecting GI's throat with a quick flick of his knife.

Peck halted, crouched, eyes scanning the jungle around him, his sight was his best chance of sensing anything as he had lost his hearing because his heart was beating so raucously loud in his chest. In contrast everything outside his agitated body was still, everything quiet ……… then the bush in front of Peck suddenly dissolved away and in its place lurched the terrifying sight of a VC, machete raised high and face contorted in a horrific scowl of hatred.

"CHARLIE!" Peck managed to scream once and then the devil was on top of him, bowling them both over backwards into the rotting vegetation of the jungle floor. Peck fell and for a moment felt like a turtle rolled on to its back, limbs kicking aimlessly and powerless to right itself. Then his survival instinct kicked in, he stopped thinking and simply acted; his left hand running down to unclip his pack, his right pushing away his M16 and searching for the K-bar combat knife at his belt.

His enemy was growling on top of him, his machete jarred away from his clutching grasp but his hands searching out Peck's throat. They were both desperately trying to find an advantage, a way out of this most intimate but deadly of embraces. Peck's nose was assailed by the stink of sweat and fear and he growled trying to shake the smaller man from his belly. Over their heads suddenly the whiz of bullets cracked into the trunks of the trees above them as the rest of the Team met their attackers head on.

Peck finally managed to push his assailant off and they were rolling over through the clinging, damp undergrowth, growling, swearing, gritting their teeth and getting covered in filth. Their movement was brought to a painful end as, with a thud Peck's head banged on a tree stump covered with green lichen and crawling insects. Momentarily stunned Peck groaned and blinked back the tears the impact had brought - it was all the opening the VC needed. He jumped to his feet, picked up the knife that had come to rest on a mound of moss close to Peck's right hand and thrust down.

Perceiving the movement at the very latest of moments, Peck managed to push himself backwards, and kicked out with his leg, with the result that the blade of the knife slit a deep cut clear across the top of his right knee. Peck yelped as blood gushed out of the wound but he also noted with relief his booted foot connected with force to the vulnerable area between the VC's legs. The enemy let out a scream of his own and fell to his knees cradling his bruised balls. The small victory coupled with the pain reawakened Peck's survival impetus. Blind but frantic, his hands searched behind him in the mud. He was transfixed by the sight of the VC, his eyes shining with cold clinical hatred as he regained his composure, stood, advanced towards him and lifted the knife once more. Peck's right hand circled around something hard, he pulled it from the mud. He didn't even have time to glance at what it was instead he threw himself forward, smashing the heavy item in his hand hard into the temple of his attacker. And he kept thumping, long after the VC's hand had gone limp and he dropped the knife, long after the sound of fighting in the jungle around him ceased and long after his victim's head had degenerated into a disgusting mess of blood and brain.

Finally his energy spent Peck let go of the ensanguined remains of what had once been a man before him and let it fall. He collapsed to his knees on the floor but the pain that arced from his knee wound caused him to groan and he fell sideways, retching, and fighting for breath. God, how he wanted to just lay there and give in to the blackness that was threatening to take control. But he knew he could not, so with more muttering he pulled himself to his feet and stumbled back along the trail to where his Team should be.

The sight that reached his eyes caused his blood to chill. The fighting had stopped but the chaos it had left behind was all too apparent. There were bodies scattered around the area, most were thankfully VC but Peck could see a number of his men lying together under a larger tree.

He staggered up to it. "Glad you could make it," Brenner's anxious voice came from where he knelt beside a groaning Colonel Smith.

"What happened?" Peck asked, his mouth going dry and his stomach churning.

"We lost Luther and Pod." He nodded towards the two lifeless bodies behind another tree. "Hernandez is here but he don't look like he's staying long, BA fell over and broke his ankle and the Colonel here; he's not looking none to good. You?"

Peck sniffed. "I'm OK but I don't think Tray made it. What about the others?"

"They're off making sure we don't get any more surprises – I hate surprises!"

Peck nodded, looked down at the Colonel. "Is he going to be OK?"

Brenner shrugged. "Reckon he's had worse." He was kneeling down beside the shivering man, already having placed an absorbent bandage over Smith's stomach wound, he was now gently propping him forward to drink from his water bottle. As he did so those familiar blue eyes flashed open and though dulled by pain they fell on Peck.

"I'm still here, Lieutenants!" he growled. "And I aim to keep it that way.

There was a weak scream from the other side of the Colonel. Peck saw Hernandez's body arched in pain and shivering uncontrollably. He glanced back at Brenner who made a dismissive gesture with his hand. "Gut shot," the older Lieutenant breathed.

Gingerly, favouring his unhurt leg, Peck made his way around to the where the Mexican lay. He nodded at BA as he passed. The big guy was looking bemused but angry. "Don't say a word!" he muttered.

Peck shrugged. "I was just thinking about state the other guy must be in!" BA growled menacingly, but he looked a damn sight fitter than either of their other two patients.

As Peck approached Hernandez he thought the dark haired boy was muttering in Spanish but as he got nearer he realised it was Latin. He eased himself down beside the dying man, careful of his still bleeding knee, and trying not to look at the gapping bloody hole that was where the kid's stomach should be.

"Easy, son," he whispered.

Dark brown eyes flicked open, sheaved with pain. "Shit, it hurts man," Hernandez groaned.

"It's going to be OK," Peck said. Slowly he stripped off his flack jacket and his shirt. Rolling the shirt up, he gently pillowed it up and placed in behind the kid's head. Then he took hold of the thrashing arms, slowed them and held them tightly in his own.

"Don't wanna die," Hernandez muttered. "Scared…"

"You're doing fine, kid," Peck breathed. "Hey, I don't even know your first name, what is it?"

Hernandez took in a deep breath, swallowed. "Antonio," he managed to say. "But my friends call me Toni."

"Toni it is then."

"That's typical!" Hernandez groaned, ruefully shaking his head. "Of all people, I get to die in the fucking Colonel's boy's arms! Ain't fair!" A sudden wave of pain rushed through the failing body and Hernandez tensed, gasping out the rest of his breath. Peck soothed him again but the kid was fighting for oxygen now, his muscles contracting violently, he began to scream in agony.

Peck glanced about at the watching jungle and he could feel the wide eyes of the others staring at him. He had to shut the boy up. They had seen off the first attack but they did not know who else was in range to hear the kid's screaming. "Shush, Toni. I want you to take deep breaths for me. Fill your lungs as much as you can and then let it out real slow and quiet. After three, can you do that for me?"

Hernandez nodded and took a breath, then another; at least it stopped his screaming and he was soon muttering again in Latin. Peck reached up to his own neck and pulled away the small gold crucifix he wore, that had been hidden behind his dog tags. He placed it in Hernandez's grimy hand. "Hold it for me, Toni," he soothed. "Cos God is near and we don't want him to miss you as he passes by, do we?

"I'm scared, Lieutenant," Hernandez moaned but he gratefully accepted the chain and held it tightly. His complaint of earlier forgotten.

Peck held on to him firmly. "Don't be. It's all going to be OK. Soon the pain is going to stop. Soon you'll be free of it all. Pray with me, Toni, please."

Brenner and Baracus watched as the two men sat together quietly praying. Hernandez clutched at the Lieutenant but he did not scream again, instead his lips moved slowly as he mumbled the words to the prayers. "The Lord is my shepherd……."

Finally it was over, with a gentle shudder and a last blow of air that gurgled from his colourless lips Corporal Antonio Jose Julio Hernandez almost silently departed the world. Peck gulped as he genuflected and reached across to close the brown eyes for the last time. He let go of Hernandez's hands as he laid them across the motionless chest. The golden cross was still entwined around lifeless fingers.

Then he stood up, put on his flack jacket and rubbed at his own eyes. Brenner passed him the water bottle and he drank of it deeply. "That was a number one thing you did," Ray said. Peck didn't answer so he continued. "Giving him your crucifix."

Peck handed back the bottle, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "I don't need it anymore," he said stiffly.

"Why not?"

"Cos I haven't believed in a long while. Good thing really cos if I did, with the things I've done, I'd be going straight to hell!""

"But…."

Peck raised his hand to stop Brenner. "I'm going back down the trail to get my pack and M16, see about Tray too. You see about fixing us some sort of perimeter. I want a status report when I get back."

"Yes Sir," Brenner nodded and watched sadly as Peck moved away.

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Peck closed his eyes, just for a second, a brief second, to get away from this place, to pretend it had not happened, to believe it was all just an awful nightmare.

All too soon he opened them again and he was back, hunkered next to a tree, his right knee throbbing like a goddamn bongo drum, the jungle surrounding him was dark and bursting with hideous sounds, and across from him, three pairs of fearful eyes watched him bleakly – Lowrie, Baker and Willie. All that was left standing of Colonel Smith's famous A Team; some 'dangerous' they turned out to be!

Brenner was over by the Colonel and Baracus who were both holding their own and doing as well as could be expected but Peck knew he had to get them out and quickly – how in hell was he going to do that?

Having lost Luther, their qualified medic, Brenner had appointed himself to the role. Taking his job very seriously he had bawled Peck out earlier when he noticed the streaming cut above his knee. Truth to tell Peck's adrenaline had been pumping so fast he had forgotten it himself as he trekked up the trail twice, once returning with Tray's corpse and placing it gently beside Hernandez and a second time with his M16 and back pack after spending an unreasonable amount of time trying to find his helmet in the undergrowth. He reasoned with himself that he needed the lid, couldn't stand the thought of some goddamn VC running around with it as a spoil of war, but he knew the reality was he did not want to return to the horror of the glade and the responsibility that lurked there for him.

Finally he ran out of energy to search any longer and staggering down the track he barely made it back with his pack and gun. When he did the rest of the platoon had returned and were in the middle of reporting to Brenner. They stopped awkwardly as Peck threw his pack on the pile of the others and waited. There was an embarrassingly long silence which was only broken when Brenner realised the extent of Peck's wound.

He had told the others to stand down and then forced Peck off his feet to sit beside the tree. "You goddamn idiot!" he hissed. "How long have you been humping around this jungle with an open wound?"

Peck groaned, suddenly overcome by his lack of blood and exhaustion, he had lain quietly as Brenner had cleaned the wound minutely, pursing his lips at the reddening of the skin around it and then applied a sterile dressing. Following that Ray moved away and came back with two lengths of bamboo, then he splinted the leg straight by using triangular bandages and the bamboo.

"Damn hope your vaccinations are up to date, Peck," he muttered. Then he reached for the water bottle and made Peck drink the whole damn lot whilst forcing some antibiotics into him. "I hope you're working on getting us out of here, Sir," he said "Cos it's not just the Colonel and BA who need serious medical attention."

"I'm OK," Peck replied wearily. "It's just a scratch."

"You know damn well that a scratch is just as deadly in a place like this as a goddamn land mine," Brenner shook his head. "God knows what you got spewing around your system!"

Peck managed a smile. "Can't be any worse than the usual foreign bodily fluids that are in me," he laughed weakly.

Brenner did not return the smile, he shook his head. "The men report no sign of Charlie," he said finally.

"It's too much to expect them to actually report that to their commanding officer?" Peck snapped back, suddenly irritated as he realised the three soldiers had been engaged in a whispered conversation of their own all the time Brenner had been treating him.

Brenner shrugged. "It's gonna take time, kid," his voice was kind and he reached out supportively to squeeze Peck's shoulder. "You done good so far."

Peck looked unimpressed. He raised his voice so that the others could hear him. "It'll be dark soon. We stay here till dawn. We'll take two hour watches. Willie you're up first, the rest of you get some food and then some shut eye."

They had simply stared at him as if he was from another planet. The anger in Peck suddenly ignited. "I said…" he began his voice stridently loud.

"We heard you, Sir," Brenner responded. "Do it, boys," he said and instantly the others moved as commanded.

"Goddamit!" Peck slammed his fist into the damp earth beside him.

"Easy, kid," Brenner soothed again. "You need to get some rest too."

And since then Peck had leant against the tree, as the others broke out their C-rations, continuing to mutter mutinously and he had dreamed he was anywhere rather than with them.

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Peck woke with a start as a remorseless pain shuddered through him. It felt like some one had taken hold of his stomach and was wringing out his bowels. He tried to control it and only just managed to hang on but realised that he had to move and quickly.

It was dark but he stumbled blindly into the brush, gasping for air as the cold sweat on his buttocks hit the air and finally allowed his bowels to explode. "Jesus!" he moaned, as he erupted, never having felt such a bursting overwhelming sensation before. But his relief was short lived as his bowels continued to heave painfully.

A further two waves of convulsions burnt through him as his body violently expelled all the stinking contents of his lower intestines. Squatting in the jungle in an embarrassingly vulnerable state that was made doubly difficult because of the bamboo splint on his right leg, he felt weak and exhausted. Fighting back the fuzziness in his mind, he became aware of voices drifting toward him over the top of the noise of the jungle at night. Leaning his head against a nearby tree, now his urge to eject had been satisfied and his belly was quietening, he forced himself to concentrate on the words.

"We just frag him!" Although a whisper, the voice was clearly distinguishable as belonging to Baker, the big, black Bronx boy who figured himself hard as nails. "Who the hell is gonna know?"

"Ray'll know," Willie's voice was slower, more hesitant. Peck pictured him; the brown haired freckled boy from Delaware who had written 'Hippie' on his helmet and loved to listen to Jimi Hendrix at full volume.

"Ray's one of us." Baker's deep voice was resolute.

"He's a goddamn officer!"

"Well then we'll have to make sure it's an accident – one thing I know, I ain't taking no orders from no pretty boy bum bandit. No wonder he had panty hose to give BA – he's a damn sissy boy! Damn well makes me sick that someone like him could be in this army! He's gonna get us all killed – look what happened to Tray."

"Tray was on point, how was that Peck's fault?"

"He fucked up and Tray paid. I'm not going to let that happen to me – no way! Are you with me?"

There was a long pause. "OK but we better do this right – don't want the Colonel knowing."

"Trust me, no one will know."

Peck shuddered uncontrollably, his legs suddenly lost strength and he clutched hold of the tree in front of him ignoring the huge red ants that were crawling all over it, to stop himself from falling. A wave of helpless despair rushed through him. He remembered Brenner's warning about the dangerous Team members and he recalled the brooding looks of hatred in their eyes from earlier.

Shit – what was he going to do? He should be damn angry and stunned by what he had heard but he had suspected as much and his stomach was still churning, his knee throbbing and his anus burning as the convulsions threatened to rush through him again. He felt sick and now he knew what he had feared earlier was true – his own men were discussing how they were going to murder him. Feeling wretched, Peck knew he could not stay squatting out in the bush forever but equally he wasn't going to be able to sleep any more. Sighing, cleaning himself up as best he could, he made his way to the sentry position, where he knew Brenner was doing his stint.

"So, it was you staggering about in the bushes," the older Lieutenant snorted. "Why don't you just light a flare, then Charlie would know exactly where we are!"

"You have no idea how hard it is to get anywhere attached to a piece of bamboo!" Peck countered as he eased himself down to sit on his still burning butt.

"But I do – I heard you blundering about in graphic detail as did Charlie, I bet." Brenner said. "Your stomach sounds to be in a deal of trouble, Peck!"

Peck felt his already hot face colour even more but hoped it was lost on the other man in the black night. "Everybody has got the goddamn shits in this place!" he muttered.

Brenner snorted. "But not everybody has been crawling around in the jungle with a dirty wound." He leaned across and placed his hand on Peck's clammy forehead. "You got a fever there, Lieutenant."

"It's goddamn hot!" Peck snorted. He sensed the other man squinting at him through the gloom and then a water bottle was thrust into his hand.

"Drink!" Brenner ordered. "I need to look at your knee."

"I'm not….."

"Now, Peck!"

Using the light from his Zippo, Brenner carefully peeled away the sticky bandage. Even in the meagre lighter glow he could clearly see that the area around the wound was swollen and redder then before. There also appeared to be an angry red streak running up Peck's leg towards his trunk. Brenner sighed and then sniffed at the wound suspiciously. "You got difficulty in swallowing, sore throat, a headache or a stiff neck?"

Peck shook his head slowly even though he had a slight suspicion of each; he was damned if he was going to disclose anything.

"When was your last tetanus shot?" Brenner asked as he re-bandaged the wound.

"My what?"

"Tetanus! You must have had one in your medical when you joined up?"

"Maybe," Peck responded reluctantly.

"You were injured, before you got posted to us – didn't you have one then?"

Peck fidgeted and swallowed, aware of a definite soreness in his throat. "Nurses are so easy to distract," he muttered.

"Jesus Christ!" Brenner spat. "Are you telling me your tetanus isn't up to date? Didn't your mother teach you nothing?"

"My mother…?"

"Yep – it's part of the things a mom does, takes you to clinic for your check ups and shots; at least that was what my mother did. But she had cause – I come from the farm land of South California. My uncle, my mom's kid brother, cut himself on a plough when he was eighteen; a real little, insignificant cut. It was back before vaccinations and stuff. My mom watched him die, slow, gruesome and painful from lockjaw!"

"I haven't got it!" Peck argued.

"How in hell do you know? God we've got to get you medical attention and quick."

Grasping hold of the change of subject as he forced Brenner's frightening suspicion away, Peck said, "I've been thinking about that. How long to the pick up point do you reckon, Ray?"

Brenner shrugged. "Day, day and a half maybe but not if we're carrying the Colonel, BA and you – gonna take a hell of a lot longer."

Peck nodded. "That's what I thought. How long can the Colonel last before…?"

Brenner shrugged. "Bleeding's stopped. I got plenty of drugs in him and he seems pretty comfortable but as soon as we move him we risk opening the wound again."

"Then we don't move him," Peck said softly but firmly.

"You can't be serious! I'm not leaving the Colonel!" The disgust was evident in Brenner's voice. "That's not what we do – we don't lave men behind!"

"We have to split up, Ray. It's the only way."

Brenner took in a noisy breath. "Just what are you proposing, Sir?" he asked starchily.

"You take the fit members of the platoon and you high tail it out of here. Get to the pick up point and then get somebody back here to us as soon as you can."

"And what do you do in the meantime, Sir?"

Peck snorted. "Write a novel, play a little black jack… what the hell do you think? We keep damn quiet and pray like hell Charlie doesn't find us!"

"I'm not leaving the Colonel or BA!" Ray said resolutely.

"Goddamit! We can't carry them out of here – you see that!" Peck's voice was a desperate hiss.

"But anything could happen while we're gone. I'll stay, you go!"

A cold shiver froze along Peck's spine at the thought of being alone in the boonies with the men he had just overheard so callously discussing his murder. "I can't walk – I'd just slow things down! It has to be you, Ray!"

"No, I can't, I…. At least let me stay – send the men!"

"They wouldn't make it, Ray, they need you to lead them."

"Then let me leave one of the men here to protect you."

Peck took a deep breath and then let out his previously closely controlled anger. "I'm the goddamn executive officer here. As the Colonel is indisposed I am in command and I have made a decision, soldier! You will damn well do as I order!"

"With respect, Sir, I think it's the wrong decision."

"With respect, Lieutenant, I don't give a damn!" Peck snapped, then he stopped, took a deep breath to control his anger and in a conciliatory tone he continued, "OK, Lowrie, I'll keep him. Now I'll take over here, you get ready to move out at dawn!"

Peck could feel the anger radiating off Brenner like a campfire but in a show of great dependability, the older man bit back any comment he had and with a forced salute, which Peck heard rather than saw, he moved off back to the camp.

Peck closed his eyes and tried to get comfortable in the confined space Brenner had nestled in. He felt light headed and so tired but he could not rest, not after the confrontation of just seconds before and also because of the far more worrying possibility…. Shit! He didn't have lockjaw, did he? Of course he felt stiff and his wound hurt; he was injured in the goddamn jungle in the middle of the night.

But his mind kept returning to the thought – had he had his last tetanus jab? Truthfully he knew he had not. He remembered the cute, black haired nurse – Patricia – who had done his last medical assessment, mentioning the need to keep updated. But then the pair of them had got a little carried away in actually assessing his physical fitness and stamina in a very practical way. They had never managed to get back to the injection after that.

He cleared his throat experimentally. It did feel strangely raw and his wound wasn't easing none; in fact the swelling appeared to be worsening. Shit! Shit! Shit! For a second panic and fear overran him but he forced himself to take a very deep breath. He kept repeating the action until he was calmer. Losing control was not going to do any good, not in this most dangerous of places. He needed to accept all possibilities so he could think clearly to concentrate on a plan.

Brenner of course had not been happy; Peck had not expected him to be but what other choice did he have? Getting the members of the platoon he had overheard away from him eased his own fears of being fragged and it also gave at least some of them a chance of making it out. He had no idea what Lowrie thought about the issues, whether he wanted to kill him too but Peck figured he had to have one of them stay; just in case he couldn't hack it – he could not put the Colonel or BA in any greater risk than was needed. Not that he had too much of concern there; BA, although in a lot of pain and relatively immobile, could still use his M16 and the Colonel was best left resting until they could get a medic back down the valley to see him. Deep in his heart Peck knew it was the best plan – all he had to do was stay fit enough to look after them until help came. Hell he could do that surely? How long did tetanus take to….

He stopped the thought; wasn't going to think on it further. He was doing the goddamn right thing – giving everybody the best chance of surviving this disaster. He stared out bleakly into the black jungle pulsating with indescribable fears that he dare not contemplate. The thoughts he had earlier at Da Nang came back to him – how night always happened so quickly in Nam, night came, day left, almost in a blink of an eye. Night and day… life and death; so quick, so final, so gone. Lord; he just had to hope that Charlie had assumed they were all dead and wasn't coming back to check any time soon!

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Dawn came with a grey, miserable drizzle that dripped off the green claustrophobic canopy above and permeated through eventually saturating everything beneath.

Slowly Peck limped back into the camp, his gun slung lazily over his shoulder. His belly was still lurching painfully but thankfully it was too empty for any further eruptions. His mind felt fuzzy and his vision was slightly blurred so he blinked impatiently until the scene came into focus. BA was scowling from beneath the tree while the Colonel was still sleeping. Brenner and the others were up and almost ready to leave. Good man Ray; he may not like it but he was sure as hell going to follow his orders. The other three men, on the other hand, looked at the stumbling Lieutenant with a mixture of contempt and condescension.

Ignoring the others Peck moved directly to talk to Brenner as if there had been no break in their conversation from the night before. "What else can I do, Ray?" he hissed, suddenly feeling the need for some support. "At least this way you get out and get us help."

Ray nodded, his true feelings veiled behind his narrowed eyes. "It's OK," he said loud enough for his voice to carry to the others. "I understand. We gonna make sure that we leave enough clues that any Charlie in the area is gonna follow us, not come sniffing around here for you!" His voice lowered in concern. "How's the leg?"

"Hurts like hell," Peck muttered. Both men glanced down to see the blood on the bandage had been coloured by a yellowish pus. "But I'll be OK."

"Sure you will, kid! Lowrie's a good soldier – you can rely on him." Brenner embraced Peck supportively, both of them denying the truth of the situation. With an impish smile Ray took off his helmet and placed it on Peck's head. "You need this more than me. Gotta keep that pretty face safe!"

"But…"

"Drink as much water as you can, Peck and make sure the Colonel and BA do too. We'll be back in no time!"

He didn't say more and the others said nothing. Soon they were ready, they moved out swiftly and without looking back. Lowrie went with them to the sentry position.

Peck watched them go, unable to quash the thought that he would never see them again.

"Be back before you know it!" BA's voice rumbled behind him.

Peck turned wearily as the pain shot up his throbbing leg once more. "You play poker, BA?" he asked hopefully.

"No way! Ma mom don't hold with no gambling – the Colonel's your man but you better not cheat."

"Cheat? You wound me BA, as if I would!" Peck snorted but his smile was jaded, casting a glance to where Smith was sleeping. "Maybe later," he muttered. "I guess we'll have time."

"Believe it sucker – we ain't going no where fast!"

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

**THE COLONEL'S BOY**

**Part 5**

"_O! I have lost my reputation! I have lost the immortal part of myself, and what remains is bestial."_

_Othello, 2. 2_

_William Shakespeare_

"You know," Lowrie's monotonous voice drawled. "Most armaments analysts judge the Russian AK-47, to be a superior weapon to our M16. It's more durable and less adversely affected by the climate and conditions of Vietnam. I'm gonna get me one when I can!"

"Better watch yourself, Corporal," Peck responded trying to ignore the pain in his throbbing leg as he slowly eased himself back to his feet.

"Why Sir?"

"Well you know that "popping" sound an AK makes when it's fired? Reckon if any of our lads heard you firing it they might just fill you full of M16 lead, thinking you were a Gook not just an unpatriotic grunt!"

"Shit – I never thought of that! Do you reckon it might happen?"

Peck shrugged. "You never know, Lowrie! You OK here awhile if I go back and check on our patients."

Lowrie smiled his white toothy grin, bright against his dirty face and cropped brown hair. "Yes, sir. I'll just go right on talking whether you here to listen or not. Makes no difference to me – I always talk when I'm worried and man, am I scared shitless now!"

Peck smiled and squeezed Lowrie's shoulder supportively. The young Corporal had been in the sentry post for most of the time since the others left almost a day and a half ago. Peck had seen no signs that he bore any animosity to him, in fact Lowrie was giving every impression of being a friendly and decent guy. His only problem did seem to be the fact that he talked incessantly in a long, tedious southern drawl that could have made even the most interesting of subjects appear unappetising.

As the fuzziness of his fever raged through him Peck was beginning to wonder if he hadn't imagined the whole conversation from the other two team members – had they really been plotting to kill him. Well, if Lowrie had been involved he was damn good at hiding it and he also appeared to have shelved the idea for the moment. Peck determined to continue to keep a wary eye on him just in case.

That was of course if he could find the energy to keep his eyes open at all! As time had progressed Peck was beginning to feel even worse. The pain and swelling in his wound had continued to increase as had the pus leaking out of it. He had determined not to take the bandage off but above it he could clearly see that the red streak was inching its way up his thigh. And, apart from the wound area, his other symptoms were worsening – his belly and bowels though empty were continuing to spasm, he had a thumping headache that was causing his vision to blur, he felt tender in his groin and under his arm pits and swallowing the copious amounts of water he was forcing down was not getting any easier. But what was most terrifying was that his jaw was stiffening. At first he persuaded himself that it was not happening, then that it was part of the healing process following the left hook he had taken during the fight in the latrines but then his jaw muscle had started to spasm so hard that he could no longer ignore it and the rest of the muscles throughout his body were stiffening in the same way.

As he walked, with great difficulty, back to the camp he knew he could not deny the reality any longer, though his medical knowledge was limited, all of his symptoms matched what Ray had described – he was suffering from tetanus. In the middle of the jungle, miles away from medical help, with two seriously injured men relying on him; the prognosis was bleak.

He wanted to sit down and cry. He wanted to shout and curse as loudly as he could. And he wanted to turn back time to his last medical assessment – why in hell hadn't he let Patricia give him the booster?

But he did none of these things.

Instead he stoically accepted what was happening to him; if he could not change it, nor stop it then he simply had to endure it. Besides there were other men here, men who he cared about, men who were depending upon him. He could not help them if he lost himself to despair and turned into a useless heap of quivering jello. If he gave up they would die too and of all things he did not want that. It was the tenacious streak deep within that perceived the opportunity in even the direst of situations; the part of him that refused to roll over and die. Colonel Smith had recognised it when he watched him even in Potter's thrall, it had always been there but now it was coming to the fore.

There was so much that Peck wanted to do, so many dreams that had been driven into him through the loveless mediocrity of his childhood that he still wanted to realise. Through the lack of certainty and love at the very time in his life when he needed it, he had developed the drive to strive for a place to belong. His dreams had kept him going through some lean times, his deep desire was to be a part of the world he saw as a young wide-eyed boy looking in on the excesses that were Hollywood. His ambition had brought him to this place, his belief that he could make something good from desperate circumstances; that he could seize the opportunity. A career for himself in the army, even in Vietnam, could be the springboard that he needed to help his leap into the society he craved.

He would not give up that ambition, not while his heart was still beating, for though he may say, and even believe, he had lost his faith in the church that had nurtured him, he would never reject the overwhelmingly simple foundation that his upbringing had given him and his whole life was built upon – that hope and good would conquer in the end. Subconsciously clutching at this as an indisputable truth he determined to endure.

The Colonel was sitting up next to BA as Peck approached, although still in pain, Smith was more than a little relaxed by the constant supply of painkillers he had received. "What you smiling at, Peck?" he asked mildly.

Peck gulped and the sound resonated painfully in his ears. He didn't know he was smiling but he was having difficulty getting his mouth to stay straight. Instead of revealing the cause he decided to go with it. "You two look like two old ladies sitting under a tree at the annual church picnic!" he quipped, speaking very slowly so that the words came out correctly.

BA growled.

Smith smiled. "Well this old lady could very much use a cigar!" he responded.

Still keeping up his pretence Peck eased himself down on to the ground. "Don't think Dr Brenner would be too pleased with you having a cigar, Sir."

"Don't give a damn!" Smith retorted. "Where is he anyway?

"Gone out for a pizza, should be back in a while." Peck took a cigar from his top pocket and handed it to the Colonel. "Still I have emergency supplies and what the doctor don't know, the doctor can't beef about!"

"Thanks, Lieutenant."

"You been out of it for over twenty four hours, Sir. How are you feeling now?"

Smith looked at him for a long time, his eyes not nearly as clear as normal but still searching brightly. Finally he shook his head slightly and answered. "I feel like my stomach exploded."

"Pretty much what happened," Peck confirmed. "I think that Ray has sorted you for now, although that's not to say there should not be a doctor checking you out as soon as we can. And I'm afraid I sorta lost most of your men, Sir."

Smith was staring at him again somewhat quizzically. "I remember the fire fight, kid. Don't recall any of it being your fault, though. Jeez my stomach must be good, I'm hungry – hope Ray gets back with that pizza real soon."

Peck shook his head. "It'll have to be C- rations Sir. I'm not expecting the others back anytime real soon."

The Colonel drew in a long breath. "You haven't sent him on a patrol then?"

"No, Sir. I sent him, Baker and Willie out, to get help."

Even in his diminished state Smith seemed to rise up from his prone position. "You did what?" he hissed angrily.

BA from his position behind the Colonel sensed the growing tension between the two men and pulled himself up. He let out a grunt of dismay, his features snarling in worry.

Peck gulped, and that hurt his throat. "You were out of it, Sir. I had to make a decision, so I…."

"You decided to split the Team? You sent three men off into the jungle and left the rest of us here?" Smith was growling, "What part of the code don't you understand - we don't split our men!"

"Ordinarily I know that, Sir, but…."

"No, there are not buts to that Lieutenant! You split your force, you split your strength. We stick together – one out, all out. I'm surprised Ray left."

"I gave him a direct order Sir. Bearing in mind all the information I had at the time, I believe it was the right decision." He took a deep breath before continuing doggedly. "I still do."

"Well, you're wrong, Lieutenant, badly wrong. And wipe that ridiculous smile off your face!" Although weak from his wound Smith made no attempt to hide the passionate colour of his anger.

Self consciously Peck rubbed his hand across his face, as if that would ease his locking jaw muscle. What to say? How to justify his actions, when faced by the challenge of his commanding officer? He could not; could not find the words or the energy to argue back; the overwhelming exhaustion that had stalked him for so long suddenly doubled its efforts to take control of his straining muscles. And all the time the Colonel stared at him, waiting, expecting him to argue.

"I did what I thought was right, Sir," he mumbled finally, looking away into the distance.

Smith shook his head dismissively. "You broke the unwritten code, Lieutenant."

Hot, tired and overwhelmed by the aggressive response from his respected Colonel, Peck felt his misery grow as he heard himself whine pathetically, "I thought it was the right thing to do."

Smith shook his head. "If we get out of this, we'll see, Lieutenant. We'll see!"

"Colonel, I …."

"Enough already, Lieutenant!" Smith snapped back. "Make yourself useful and get me some water."

Choosing the easy way out rather than continue the conflict, Peck nodded. "Yes, Sir." He moved away quickly and so missed the ensuing conversation.

"You too hard, Hannibal!" BA muttered. "Kid did what he thought was right."

Smith snorted. "They should have carried us out, BA! You told me Ray, Willie, Baker and Lowrie are OK, plus Peck; that's five fit men, they could have managed you and me. At least we'd have stayed together."

Baracus shook us head. "You injure your eyes as well as your belly? Peck ain't fit, man. He conning you!"

Smith looked at the big black man, the fury in him greying to a look of surprise. "Conning me?"

Baracus nodded. "He ain't smiling."

The Colonel snorted impatiently. "BA, you're not making sense, what the hell are you trying to say?"

"I'm saying that you of all people shouldn't jump to no conclusions except when you know all the facts!"

"All the facts – what the hell?"

Peck had returned with a cup of water. Smith took the cup and then hesitated as he fixed Peck with his sternest gaze. Suddenly it all fell into place for the Colonel. He saw the stark fear in the young Lieutenant before him. "You're not really smiling, are you, kid?"

Peck sighed still not wanting to reveal anything. "What can I say – I got a cheerful disposition!" He ran his hand through his hair nervously. "But…" It was Peck's turn to falter; he licked his lips and tried to swallow.

The Colonel shook his head. He was not going to apologise for his earlier anger – the kid should have said something if he wanted sympathy – stubborn little …. He stopped the thought and continued. "Not after I just chewed you out. BA quite rightly has pointed out that I am not aware of all of the reasons for your decision. Care to share them with me, kid. And tell me what follows the but?"

Peck considered lying but discounted it on the grounds it took up too much of his precious energy. "On this occasion, I have to admit, my smile does not seem to be responding to my commands very well; in fact my whole mouth seems to be developing a will of its own and every other muscle in my body seems about to follow suit." The admission of what he had previously refused to acknowledge caused a wave of despair to crash through Peck and he heard the emotion catch in his voice as his eyes began to moisten. "I guess I didn't keep my shots up!" he mumbled.

Smith let out a sigh of understanding. Now BA had drawn his attention to it he noted the limp, the paleness of the Lieutenant's features and the fact that Peck's hand was shuddering as he dismissively wiped the tears from his eyes.

"Tetanus?" Smith asked.

Peck nodded, ignoring the stiffness in his neck. "Dr Brennan's opinion - I just know it hurts like hell and it isn't getting any better. I don't think… I….." The Lieutenant gulped, the mere act almost impossible in his raw throat. His eyes were beseechingly blue as they came up to fix on the Colonel's knowing ones. "How long will it take, Sir?" he asked.

"Come here, son." Careful not to disturb his own stomach wound, his anger now completed dissipated into compassion, Smith enveloped Peck in a deep embrace. "You're doing great, kid. Ray'll be back years before anything serious happens to you, I know it."

Peck sniffed, pulled himself back a little but was unable to control the shivering of his body.

"Come on, kid," Smith continued, having felt the heat of the fever that raged through the younger man. "You need to rest a little, maybe get some z's – when was the last time you slept?"

Peck slumped down beside him, his injured leg thrust straight out beside him. "I don't know," he mumbled boyishly.

Smith hesitated. He thought he now knew exactly what the kid had been doing by acting so damn stubborn and taking his chewing out without reaction – to argue was to acknowledge his circumstance and all that came with it. Sometimes the future and all it held was just too frightening to contemplate. Sometimes it was better not to think about what could happen, and just live from one moment to the next. Smith's eyes went to rest on the pus leaking wound on Peck's knee, that with the other symptoms, the Colonel knew that Peck suspected that he was never going to make it out of this valley and the older man saw that he had been holding himself together by ignoring the possibility. The Colonel had used a similar tactic himself many times, and it had kept him strong. Smith figured he should not stop Peck from using it now.

"So, you done any more thinking on the club, kid?" Smith was casting around in his rather tired and pained mind to come up with a topic that would engage Peck and allow him to continue his avoidance tactic.

Peck gulped. "What?"

"The DMZ Rackets Club, you done anymore?"

"DMV Tennis and Racket Club, you mean?" The Lieutenant relaxed a little, his eyes gleaming with understanding. He still felt raw from the Colonel's undeserved attack of earlier, but he wished so much for Smith's recognition, he decided to play along. "Yeah – I've had chance to do a whole lot of thinking. I made a few arrangements before this mission. I went over for a look and I reckon there's room for a golf course, nine holes at least over by the munitions store."

Smith looked unconvinced. "Gets pretty heated around there with incoming missiles, Charlie's out to blow that mother."

Peck's smile widened, giving the Colonel the impression he was actually meaning it this time. "Thought that would add to the fun of the game and those craters, after the artillery strikes, won't half make good sand traps, don't you think?"

The Colonel chuckled. "You sure seem to be able to make the best of what you've got, Lieutenant."

Peck shrugged. "You get used to it when you've never had much in the first place, Sir!" He hesitated and then deciding to push his luck, he continued, "I want you to do the honours, Sir."

"The honours?"

"Yeah, picture this. A 1958 powder blue Cadillac, chrome shining in the sunlight, two pretty girls in bikinis either side; one blonde, one brunette, both beautiful. You are sitting in the middle of the back seat, full dress uniform, cigar in your mouth just smiling and waving. We take you for a spin around the base, just to get everybody interested and then you officially open the club. I'm working on a deal to get some cost price booze – should be a great night and that's just the start!"

"I like it!" Smith beamed. "You got an idea of a timescale on this?"

The blond Lieutenant sighed. "I was working on a 4th July opening date but….." he stopped, let the sentence hang eloquently unfinished on the stifling air.

"Sounds like a good date to me, kid. Of course I'll have to check my diary when we got back but I don't foresee any problems."

Peck gulped. "When we get back," he repeated wistfully.

Smith reached out and patted Peck supportively. "It's gonna be OK, kid," he said. "You're doing good and Ray'll be back with the pizza pretty soon."

The shuddering had begun to crash through Peck again. He nodded wearily. "That's good," he murmured weakly. "Cos I don't know how long I'm gonna be able to hold on."

Smith took hold of his arm and squeezed tightly. His eyes were eerily bright as they bore into the younger man. "I'm not leaving you here, Lieutenant. We're going home together – we're both strong enough to get through this – believe it! I don't leave any of my men behind – that's what my Team is all about."

"I didn't want to split us up, Sir. I couldn't think of any other way." Peck nodded slowly. "I haven't stopped trying," he responded. "And I never will." Tiredly he pulled himself away from the wounded man and climbed back to his feet. "Do you need anything else, Colonel?" he asked.

"Maybe a little more water," Smith said. Peck nodded and turned to limp across to where the water bottles were stored again. "One more thing, kid," Smith continued. The Lieutenant turned back. "You didn't like my plan did you? You didn't want to be here did you?"

"Sir?" Peck's face showed his confusion.

"You weren't happy, after Caleb's death, when I changed the plan."

"Does it matter?" Peck snapped in sudden and unexpected irritation. He rubbed his hand across his eyes and took a deep breath before continuing more honestly and with more control. "No, Sir, I wasn't."

"Why didn't you tell me then?"

Peck tried to subdue his annoyance and frustration – he did not have the energy for this right now; what the hell did any of it matter? "Because you're the boss. It's not up to me to argue with your decisions."

"But it is kid. You're my XO – you got a great brain in there, use it! I want you to analyse every single one of my decisions. And I want you to tell me if you see a problem. I want you as my quality control. I'm not infallible – as I just proved, sometimes I do react without thinking things through. Most of the time it gives me the edge but occasionally it backfires." Peck rolled his eyes irreverently suspecting that would probably be as near to an apology as he was going to get for his earlier dressing down, as the Colonel continued, "Command is a lonely place to be. Plus when you have a Team like mine it is never gonna be easy - rebels are notoriously difficult to command, Lieutenant."

The wry, self- mocking glint in Peck's eye was beautifully done. "Yes, sir. I suppose so, Sir," he conceded. He hesitated then before continuing. "If I had told you my concerns, would you have changed your plan?"

Smith's eyes twinkled. "I didn't say that you would make me change my mind – I just want a different perspective. And I don't want it to stop you from voicing your concerns."

Peck snorted. "Thought as much!" he muttered. "I guess you still don't agree with me about splitting our forces either." He added, unable to let it rest.

Smith snorted. "I would have done differently, Lieutenant!"

Peck shook his head despondently as he went to get the water.

"Damn stubborn mule-heads!" BA muttered. "You as bad as each other!"

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"Shit!" Peck murmured.

They were desperately short of water. He had been dishing it out sparingly so that no one would suffer from dehydration but also in the hope that Ray would bring help back pretty quickly. There was no sign and now they were down to the last bottle.

He closed his eyes fighting back the wave of panic that clutched at his gut. Too many decisions, too much responsibility and the throbbing in his leg was getting more painful, if that was possible. He breathed in deeply, glancing back over his shoulder to where BA and the Colonel waited. No point in worrying about it – have to use what energy he had left to do something to resolve the situation.

"Lowrie," he said as he came back to the sentry point after supplying the Colonel with his requested drink.

The jar headed soldier sat up with a start. "Sir!" he almost shouted in marine fashion as he tried to stand up to attention in the confines of his hiding place.

Peck smirked as much as his stiffening jaw would allow. "At ease, Corporal!" he said. "You stopped talking."

Lowrie nodded miserably. "We been here too long, Sir – I'm even boring me!"

Peck chuckled. "You're gonna have to last a little longer. We're running out of water – I'm going to see if I can find a source."

"A source? Out there?" Lowrie looked unsure, his eyes wide as he glanced out into the jungle.

"It's a goddamn valley," Peck retorted jadedly. "Should be a river somewhere ….and a bridge." He added as an afterthought.

"But…"

"No, no buts," Peck said. "I need you to go back and look after the Colonel and BA, maybe bore them for a while with the undoubted qualities of an AK-47! I'll be back by dark."

"And if you're not?" Lowrie was unsure.

Peck put on his most confident voice. "I will be or Ray. Either way, you'll be safe." He shouldered his M16 then and stiffly made his way back up the trail. Lowrie watched him go and then turned back to the clearing.

It was hard work trying to cut a way through the suffocating jungle undergrowth, even at the peak of fitness, Peck would have found it difficult, but in his current state it was almost impossible. He had not gone far but he had to stop often and gulp in air, clutching hold of the nearest tree, trying desperately to ignore all of his physical discomforts; his fatigues were swimming in sweat, Ray's helmet was too big and was rubbing irritatingly over his ears, his M16 seemed to be getting heavier with each step and his legs were beginning to shudder so much he feared that they would no longer hold him upright.

Now he found himself clinging to a tree, desperate to get his breath as he forced his lungs to work, searching for more energy to continue on his quest. He was beginning to believe he would never find water, never find his way back, never take another step. Distressed and dispirited and at the very end of his stamina he slid down the tree to his knees, ignoring the increased spurt of pain from his wound and knelt in the dirt, shuddering uncontrollably as every muscle in his body spasmed.

"Shit," he breathed as the thundering of his heart thumped too fast in his ears and his sight began to dim. He could feel himself letting go, feel the coil of his life unravelling with such a traitorous sense of relief; that the pain and the horror would soon be over, that he felt himself reaching to embrace it. He did not know where he was, he did not care, he just wanted an end.

And just as he thought it would take him, a dim and dogged fear from very deep inside thrust up through him, forcing him to breath, to think, to continue onwards. The fatal tidal wave of despair that had washed through him had been endured, he had righted himself and his crisis was over for the moment, Peck remained on his knees, in the mud and breathed, not thinking, not worrying and not feeling but simply breathing.

Slowly, almost unconsciously he became aware of voices, not too far away. He closed his eyes and listened intently, trying to peel away the other sounds of the verdant jungle so full of noise and concentrate on the sounds of humanity. His first thought was that it was Ray and rescue but he discounted that almost as quickly as it came – no GIs moving through the jungle would be making such a racket and if they did, they would not have survived this long.

He listened more intently, forcing his brain to work to hear and he realised the voices were not speaking English. His eyes opened with a flash of panic – VC, close enough for him to hear each sound. He shuddered and pushed himself back into the undergrowth, ignoring the insects, the leaves, and the mud, just trying to be a part of the jungle.

The urge to clear his swollen throat was suddenly paramount in Peck's mind but he ignored it. The voices came no nearer but remained persistently in his presence. He sat undecided for long seconds – to move may reveal his position but he could not stay here forever. As to emphasise his thought, he felt something slither across his arm and bit back the yelp of surprise that rose up in him.

He had to force himself to remain still although the pressure for his muscles to spasm was intense, only his eyes moved as he watched the snake slither around his forearm, on to his gun and then away into the nearest bush. The danger survived, it made up his mind for him, as soon as he could see the snake no longer, he inched forward, back onto the slightly cleared trail he had been walking along until his crisis of minutes before.

He inched forward, slowly, noiselessly, his booted but accustomed feet stretching forward tentatively onto the ground in front, feeling for danger. The adrenaline was spurting around his body now and he was acting as much by the instinct of the trained soldier as he could. However a spasm would shudder through his muscles every so often, reminding him he was not as fit as he would like.

The jungle floor beneath his feet stopped abruptly and Peck peered out to see a sight his cynical nature just did not accept – a river! He peered at it, wondering if he was hallucinating, whether that was a symptom of his disease but Ray had never mentioned it when he went through the list. And Peck decided if he was going to imagine a river it sure would be a damn sight more inspiring than this one - it wasn't fast flowing or particularly clear, the branches of the jungle trees stretched out across it and indeed there were trees seemingly growing through it, a grey mist lingered above while a green algae floated lazily on the surface. The whole scene resembled more a swamp than a river… but it was definitely water. Peck licked his lips thirstily, imagining the cool liquid running down his scorched throat. At that point he did not care whether it was clean enough to drink and he wanted it desperately!

The sight of the river and an end to his search had momentarily forced the VC voices from his head but he remembered them now and glanced to his left. His heart did a triple flip in his chest as it pumped the adrenaline even faster around his body. Just up stream he saw the spot where the voices were coming from.

The jungle had been hacked back and a road was winding its way down to the river bank and up the other side. In between and joining the two sides of the road was a bridge. It was of an outlandishly sturdy bamboo construction looking out of place in the bizarre setting of the swamp that surrounded it. It was wide and strong enough to carry a two ton truck at least.

Peck leant back against the nearest tree, letting it take his weight. He recognised the bridge, had seen it before, not in reality but in sketches and the odd photograph that Colonel Smith had shown him and the rest of the Team at the mission briefing session. This idle, over-vegetated swamp must be the Rao Lao River and it wasn't just any old bridge that he had come across, this was the reason they had come all the way, lost so many men, suffered so much. This was the bridge that had to be destroyed.

Alone in the humid and terrifying jungle, his body convulsing uncontrollably as the tetanus bacteria destroyed his central nervous system, Lieutenant Templeton Peck made himself a promise – whatever happened, no matter what it took, he was going to blow that goddamn bridge!

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

**THE COLONEL'S BOY**

**Part 6**

"_O! I have lost my reputation! I have lost the immortal part of myself, and what remains is bestial."_

_Othello, 2. 2_

_William Shakespeare_

Soft, warm almond eyes looked up at him. A round moon face, full and forthright smiled slightly as she adjusted her position beneath him and she let out a long sigh. It was not a sound of fulfilment but one of deep arousal, permeated with the potent promise of passion to come.

He felt his mouth crinkle into a similar smile as the tense muscles of his arms, holding his aching body above her, rippled in anticipation. Rivers of sweat meandered along the undulation and definition of his sinews. He leaned closer, his dog tags hanging from his neck between them, an unwanted reminder of a world neither of them was compelled to believe in at this moment.

He breathed in the scent of her wanting, ripe and ready like the bulging fruits that hung on the trees outside the city, begging to be picked. He licked her nose once and she giggled appreciatively so he moved lower. Taking the hard nub of her nipple in his mouth, sucking at it as if to taste the sweet syrup within, he felt her whole being quiver eagerly beneath him. And deep inside he felt his own body strain to answer the call.

He looked into her eyes and moving up, kissed her fertile lips once more. She was so alive beneath him, so ready and he entered her gently, moving his hips only minutely. She groaned again with wanting. But, as their eyes met, he saw the unmistakeable sadness deep within that she could not hide. How many times had she been taken in pain? How many times had the act which should only ever be of love and sharing, selfishly ripped at her soul and left her alone and bleeding on this damp mattress they now shared? How many tears had she cried and how many more would she in the uncertain future that hung above them both?

As if to bring a physical truth to his thoughts a beautifully sculptured tear gathered at the side of her eye and threaded its way across her tawny cheek, down to escape into the anonymity of the wet mattress. Fear flushed the sadness from her eye then as her instinct for self preservation set it. For a moment she had allowed herself to forget her place, allowed herself to wallow in the pleasure of his embrace, to forget the horror of her existence and to crave something more. For a moment but only one moment. And now the guilt was there, written in the contrition of her beautiful oriental features. He was not paying for that. He was here for his own pleasure. His '$5 boom, boom' was nothing about her needs and her desires and he would be angry with her if he saw her weakness. He wanted nothing of her misery; he wanted an escape from his own like all the other American soldiers who came to this place.

But, to her surprise, he only smiled at her reassuringly. Resting on one arm he lifted his other and ran his hand to gently stroke her long, black hair, pushing it softly away from her face so it cascaded on to the mattress like a sleek, satin fan. "It's OK," he mused. "We've not so very different you and me."

She let out her anxious breath, relaxing, not understanding his meaning but reading with relief in his softness that she would not be punished for her earlier transgression. Something in the empathy in him connected deep inside and a spark of memory flashed through her. Her father… long dead, a rotted corpse in the burnt out village that had been her home long ago … but the only other man in her whole life that she recalled with a voice as honeyed as this beautiful blond GI above her.

"Doesn't matter," he whispered as he began to gently thrust again, nuzzling and licking around her ear. "What's gone and what's to come, it doesn't matter. We have only now…."

She clung to him them with the longing that dwelt in the very depth of her soul and which she would never reveal to another. But here in his arms, as the sounds of the city fought to pull her back to reality – the grunts and groans of the other girls and their clients, the shrill babble of the people on the street below, and the throaty laugh of more drunken GIs looking for relief. All of it tried but none of it was potent enough to pierce through the cocoon that their lovemaking had made. And for a few short moments she had forgotten all else, she had allowed herself to love him the way it should be between a man and a woman. And, when it was over, she had looked at him with pure and simple gratitude.

Peck had seen it in her eyes and it had made him happy, helped a little to assuage his own guilt. He had never paid for it before, and if $5 was a meagre amount to him, it was the principle of the thing that ached at his conscience. But the look in her eye had been enough to make him believe that any soul suffering he would have to endure was worth it.

He looked into her eyes and allowed himself to be lost in the gratefulness he saw there. How strange to think that one small act of kindness could bring about such a change even in the hell that was this city that they found themselves in. He allowed himself a complacent smile and relaxed.

It was his undoing, for as he watched the plain, ingenuous emotion in those eyes was seared through by a burning hatred that grew in intensity with every heartbeat. No longer was it the face of the prostitute in Saigon whose name he had never known, instead the eyes and indeed the whole face twisted and contorted into the spitting form of the VC soldier he had grappled with before.

A flame of fearful panic flashed through Peck as he let out a shocked grunt and tried to move backwards but he was held petrified by the power of the detestation in those eyes.

"You all right, kid?"

A voice, a familiar one, forced its way into his reeling mind and Peck fought to grab hold of it, to ride it past the horror of his vision to the real world which must lie just outside his grasp.

He felt a hand, firmly squeezing his shoulder, he focused his attention on that touch and the voice that came again. "Kid! Come on kid, come back to me!"

And suddenly the twisted evil face of the man he had brutally beaten to death disappeared to be replaced by the concerned features and piercing blue eyes of Colonel John Smith. "You OK, Lieutenant?"

Peck nodded, ignoring the ramrod of pain that shot from his neck down his spine at the movement. "Fine," he mumbled but he could tell from Smith's quizzical raise of his eyebrows that the Colonel did not agree. "Just dreaming," he muttered.

Smith smiled. "Hope she was pretty, kid!" he chuckled.

Peck gulped with difficulty as the dream came back to him – the Saigon prostitute and the venomous VC. It wasn't really a dream he knew because he had lived both scenarios. Lord he was hallucinating now! Christ how did some one keep a hold of their facilities when all of their senses were trying to close down? How did you function when you lost control of your own body? He shuddered but didn't know whether it was worry or simply another of the all too frequent spasms that wracked his body.

As if sensing his hopelessness Smith delivered him one of his most confident smiles. "Won't be long now, kid. Ray'll be back. Then we can blow the goddamn bridge and go home!"

Peck drew in as deep a breath as his protesting lungs would allow. They had been tightening gradually since he returned from his water gathering trip a few hours previously. Was it only hours? His sense of timing, along with everything else seemed to be questionable now as the whole world was slowly receding into a hazy, indistinct mist which seemed to absorb all of his energy and steadfastness.

He tried to remember what had happened, forced his brain to sort through its cataloguing system and draw forth the information he required but it was so difficult to concentrate. Too much information! He was losing focus again now – his mind threatening to lope off on some memory about the old battle-axe of a librarian who he remembered from school. What the hell did she have to do with anything?

Shit! He had to keep this together! What had he been thinking? Oh yeah, his return to camp. After finding the river he had filled the water bottles he carried and come back to camp. Surprisingly, and rather worryingly, the river bank was only about a half a klick away from where he now sat and his return journey along a trail he had already laid did not take him long at all. He had been thankful for that as he staggered into camp but of course it did present a new danger, for if they were that close to the river, they were also close to the bridge and the VC that guarded it!

Peck remembered the glint in Colonel Smith's eye burning brightly as he had told him what he had found and what he planned to do. It had been hard work finding the words and making his faltering mouth enunciate them properly. On a number of occasions he had had to backtrack and repeat himself before Smith had understood his point and been able to nod in encouragement and excitement.

"I like it, kid!" he had beamed when Peck had finally got it all out.

Baracus, on the other hand had been a little less receptive. "You as nuts as he is!" he had growled, his face twisted in disgust.

"There is one thing I need your help on," Peck had continued. "Once I blow the bridge, the jungle is going to be crawling with Charlie. You won't be safe."

Smith had guffawed loudly, still sucking on his remaining, now rather battered, cigar. "And we are now?" he laughed before continuing. "But you're not blowing it on your own, kid. You're forgetting again that we are a Team. We're not letting you get all the glory for this!"

Peck looked away from the intense stare, his whole body spasming violently. "I'm the best bet, Sir. If I don't make it back, it doesn't…" He swallowed, his Adam's apple felt like a goddamn basket ball in his throat and his voice could find no way around it.

Smith reached out firmly to clasp hold of his shoulder. "It does matter, kid." His voice was suddenly achingly serious. "You're a part of this Team. You're my Executive Officer. And that matters. That matters a damn lot!"

Peck flushed and shuddered even more. "Thank you, Sir," he muttered. "It means a lot."

Smith smiled. "We can do this and we can walk away from it – I got me a plan! But first you need to rest a little, Lieutenant."

"But Sir, I…."

"That's an order, kid," Smith said not unsympathetically. "I know you ain't feeling too good and you ain't likely to until we get you out of here but a couple of hours rest may help you get a little strength back."

Well, from where Peck was sitting now a couple of hours had done nothing except allow the poison that was inside him to enslave a bit more of his body. He had not slept and when he had he dreamt of prostitutes and VC and all things not conducive to actually relaxing. He was strung out, feeling like a dish rag and he knew there was no hope of a release any time soon.

He looked around, forcing his watery eyes to focus. The Colonel was propped up against the same tree he had been since the fire fight. God, how long ago was that now – two, three days? Peck found he was not sure and it hurt to think about it, so he turned his attention back to the Colonel. The old soldier's skin was as pale as parchment, beads of sweat were running unnoticed across his brow. His wound was hidden beneath the greying bandage that was wrapped around his middle but Peck knew it must hurt like hell and they had had to ration the painkillers as their meagre stock was about gone. If all of this inconvenienced the Colonel he gave no sign at all, indeed, all of his physical discomfort paled next to the shine of his eyes, intensified a thousand times since Peck had given him the news of the bridge.

Baracus had said with a snort. "He on the jazz now, man!" Peck had never heard the term before but had to admit it did kind of fit – the Colonel, unbelievable as it may seem, was enjoying himself!"

Lowrie had come back and was helping himself to the remaining C-rations as he mumbled indistinctly to himself. He stopped and looked up expectantly as the Colonel cleared his throat.

"Here's what we do boys!" Smith began, making sure he made eye contact with every one of them. "Ray will be here any minute, before dark for sure, but in the meantime we got the chance to complete our mission. Make it worth our while."

Peck closed his eyes, ran a shivering hand across his brow as the Colonel spoke. It would be so easy to let go, to stop concentrating, to simply listen to the pleading of his overwrought muscles and lie down to let them rest. What the hell did a bridge matter anyhow? What the hell did anything matter? For some reason he could not explain he suddenly felt intensely irritated by the whole thing.

"…. Lieutenant?" Smith's voice intruded into the jumble of his thoughts again. "You still with us?"

"Yes Sir!" Peck's instincts answered rather than his conscious mind but it was enough to bring him back from the distraction of his thoughts, at least for now.

"Get me the M60," Smith continued after pausing to stare at his slightly trembling Lieutenant. "Set me up here. BA you OK to move?" The big man scowled but nodded. Smith continued. "OK. Leave me here with Baby – I always like to get re-acquainted with her! You three get your asses down to the bridge."

"But BA's got a broken ankle!" Peck argued, his irritation blossoming again.

"I said I'm OK to go!" Baracus spat back in a tone that brooked no argument.

Smith smiled. "BA will get the detonation so he'll need to be close but not too close. Lowrie you set the charges. Make sure you blow the whole thing. I don't want 'em able to chop down a few trees and repair it. You get me?"

Lowrie nodded, strangely lost for words.

"And what do I do?" Peck whined, his words sounding slurred even to him.

"You're in charge of the operation, Lieutenant. You make sure that the job's done and that we are all OK for Ray to come pick us up."

Peck snorted. His already slightly lopsided features curling further into an expression that was supposed to be a pout but ended up as more of a grimace. "But I…."

"Stop right there, Lieutenant! I am the ranking officer here and that is the plan. Do I make myself clear?" Smith pressed.

Peck hesitated, wanting to argue but knowing that he lacked the energy to do so. Maybe the Colonel was right – he was too far gone to be trusted in this mission. Still the irrational irritation deep inside burgeoned and began to rage at the injustice. It searched through his mind, eager to find a weapon with which to fight back. The seasoned street fighter, the stubborn manoeuvring con man was not about to be bested whatever the cost – he had promised himself he would blow that goddamn bridge and he was not letting anyone, even Colonel Smith, take it from him. It was all he was living for, and if he lost that motivation, what point was there in anything? Suddenly he found the ammunition. Not stopping to think of the consequences of revealing it, it came out of his mouth in an ill conceived slur of stubborn words that he regretted as soon as he said them. "So, wanna tell me who Michael is now?"

The normally unflappable Colonel was visibly rattled by the unexpected attack. BA growled and Lowrie just gaped. It took a whole minute before Smith got himself under control enough to bark emotionlessly. "That gentlemen is the plan. BA get the M60, Lowrie sort out the det cord and the C-4. Get yourselves together; you move out in ten." He turned to face Peck. "Lieutenant, a word in private, please!"

Shuddering, Peck nevertheless set his jaw stubbornly and waited silently until the other two men had left. Smith's smouldering gaze fell upon him and the Colonel's voice revealed the cold fury of his anger. "You got a bad mouth on you, Lieutenant!" he snapped. "I gave you an order. I don't mind a question; hell or even a little whining, what I will not accept is the fact that you feel the need to get personal in these circumstances. It is totally inappropriate! What have you got to say for yourself, soldier?"

Peck gulped, all the pain in his body and the exhaustion in his mind suddenly intensifying. Why the hell had he said it? What the hell had he wanted? It was just a cheap, stupid shot that could never had changed anything! What did it matter who blew the bridge as long as it was blown? Why had he resorted to such action? What was it inside him that made him take such a childish route?

"I'm waiting, Lieutenant!" Smith growled. Though he was the same wounded soldier, sitting leaning on a tree for support, Peck could feel the power of the rage that ran through the Colonel's body.

"I…." he began and licked his lip nervously. "I'm sorry, Sir."

Smith snorted. "That's it?" he asked incredulously.

"It was stupid. I shouldn't have said anything. I didn't mean to upset you!" Peck was talking quickly aware of the molten anger that was set to erupt forth from the man in front of him. Shit! Had he inadvertently touched a sensitive issue, or what?

"Wrong soldier!" Smith cut across him as the volcano spewed forth livid lava. "That is exactly what you wanted to do! Jesus, you got a ruthless streak! So I didn't give you the duty you wanted. This is the goddamn army, kid – we are not here for your convenience, or to do your bidding. You are here to follow my orders. To do whatever I tell you without resorting to some cheap shots about my history! What the hell were you trying to prove? Blackmail me? How the hell long have you kept that precious piece of information safe ready to use it when the time was right so you could get you own selfish way? Did you really think I would be as easy to manipulate as Colonel Potter? Mesmerise him with your sexy butt and blackmail me into submission? And just where did you find out about Michael?"

Peck opened his mouth to respond but the Colonel kept going. "I wouldn't put it past you finding it out for yourself – what; you talked your way into the General's office, past his pretty secretary, had a quick look in my file – to see if there was anything juicy there you could use to your advantage in days to come? Jesus, you are one smooth operator, I'll give you that kid!"

"It wasn't like that," Peck mumbled.

"Of course it was like that! I knew your reputation. I knew what you'd done to get ahead. I should have known you were never really in it for the Team. It's all about you Peck, isn't it? Nothing else matters – who you hurt, who you climb over, who you screw, who gets killed in the process, as long as you get what you want; you selfish bastard! I could smell the stink of your ambition; I should have listened to everyone else!"

Peck closed his eyes as the verbal battering continued. He should defend himself he knew. It was not how the Colonel saw it. He had to make his commanding officer understand the reasoning behind his throwaway line – it had been ill conceived and stupid but it had just been the heat of the moment, his disappointment and frustration getting the best of him. He had no idea that the mere mention of the name would send the Colonel into such a fury. And Smith was not letting up, a foam of spittle was now on his lips as he continued his attack.

Peck shuddered, searching for a way in, searching for the right words. Externally he remained motionless save for the frequent uncontrollable spasms but inside a sheer panic of questions gripped him. Damn this fuzzy malady that had hold of his mind. Why couldn't he think straight? Why had he brought up the issue of this 'Michael' in the first place? Why couldn't he talk his way out of this like he had in the past? Why, when he needed this man's approval more than any other man on the planet, had he managed to reduce the Colonel to this spitting, snarling monster?

Why bother? The thought was a small seed at the back of Peck's mind but quickly it grew with a calming, inevitable certainty to engulf the whole of his conscious. Why bother to justify himself? Why bother to argue with the Colonel? If what Smith was saying was not entirely correct, the miserable estimation of his worth in general most certainly was. He was a degenerate, he did con people, worse than that he lied and he stole when it suited him. He slept with anyone if he saw the advantage. He used whatever means were at his disposal to get what he wanted. It was all true, so why bother to argue? It did not matter, not at all.

Smith's pale face was now flushed through with crimson anger. "I thought I was getting through." He continued to rant. "I thought you understood. I thought I could uncover the man in you but now I see it was all part of your act. Well, congratulations Peck, you conned me good. But it won't happen again. I put my butt on the line for you three times, there's not going to be a fourth! Now get out of my sight before I do something we both might regret!"

Peck gulped. "Yes Sir!" he barked and, executing as perfect a salute as he could in the circumstances, he turned away.

BA who had been unable not to overhear the argument scowled and moved back to the Colonel. "Here, Hannibal," he said. "Sit back and calm down. It do no good getting all riled up about nothing."

Smith was breathing heavily but allowed himself to be eased back down as BA placed the M60 on its tripod over his body. "Nothing!" he snorted. "It's a whole lot more than nothing!"

BA shook his head. "We stuck in the jungle, about to blow a bridge and get more VCs running through here than there is trees and you really think this is important. Man, we all be dead soon anyway."

"I really thought he was the one, BA!" Smith's voice was pained.

"I ain't sure he isn't!"

"But after…"

"You got plenty of time to lie here and think, Hannibal." BA stood back upright after making sure the gun was secure. "Think about the kid. Think on what he said and what he didn't. Sure he got a wise mouth and he need to learn to control but I heard that said about you plenty. Sure he don't like being told what to do and he wants to make his own plans. Sure he arrogant and a liar, sure he hits out without thinking sometimes …" BA stopped and fixed the Colonel with his most withering gaze. "Remind you of anybody?"

Smith shook his head. "We are not the same, BA," he said dismissively.

"Just think on it while we go and blow the bridge." Baracus placed the belts of ammunition for Baby at the Colonel's side within easy reach and then turned to move away. He hobbled a couple of steps before turning back. "Think on this sucker; ain't no conspiracy here, just a scared kid want his own way. When you out of it with fever the other night, kid nursed you through. Man, you was hallucinating badly. Thought you was some place else and with some body else. Kept calling the kid, Michael, you did!"

TBC


	7. Chapter 7

**THE COLONEL'S BOY**

**Part 7**

"_O! I have lost my reputation! I have lost the immortal part of myself, and what remains is bestial."_

_ Othello, 2. 2_

_William Shakespeare_

Shit – the water was astonishingly cold!

Peck could not bite back the gasp that escaped his lips as he slid off the bank and down into the almost motionless water of the Rao Lao River. Coldness connected with the heat of his fevered skin and he was sure he heard the sizzle! Rods of hot ice shot up his leg as the wound on his knee went under and he had to stop, clasping hold of the roots and vegetation that sprawled untidily over the bank, his eyes watering with the pain, frantically trying to calm himself. He should have taken the painkillers that BA had offered him earlier but he had believed it was a waste for him to use them. Instead he had palmed them and put them back in the med kit for the Colonel to use if he needed, and was able to, later. No option now anyway – he just had to grit his teeth and override the screaming of his nerves.

He shot BA a quick look. The big guy was hiding in the bushes to the left and he clenched his fists in support. Still Peck hesitated at the river's edge trying to still his thumping heart and find the courage and energy to move forwards.

The world was losing clarity as the colours began to fade into sickly sepia grey. Thoughts floated in and out of his head like the green, clinging waterweed atop the river before him. He couldn't concentrate, could not fight his way past the irrelevant memories that were assailing him or the overwhelming urge to simply stop, give up, lie down and sleep until the world was all right again.

Following the seemingly random flow of memories, one thought hovered into his consciousness and lingered there. Totally extraneous to his present circumstances, still his attention was commandeered by it. It was strange, his mind pondered, that being incredibly cold had the same effect as extreme heat. It was almost as though temperature was not a linear scale at all but in fact a circle with each extreme meeting the other at its end.

The musing continued, flashes of physics lessons and school whisked through his head, he forced them away but, for some obscure reason, Peck's sluggish mind focused on the Christmas of his fifteenth year. The orphanage had sent him and a number of other kids on an exchange programme up to the mountains of Montana to work on a ranch for the holiday season. Up until that point he had never been far from the city of his birth and he remembered his excitement at learning to ride and being able to generally play the cowboy. A vivid image of the first morning there leapt into his mind. Being a cocky little son of a bitch, he had given the ranch foreman the benefit of his back chat and the foreman, wanting to prove a point to the others and to shut up the wise mouthed little jerk had said nothing but simply dumped him into the nearby horse trough. Only trouble was, it being the middle of December, there was an inch of ice on its top. Being flung in, Peck's body had broken the ice and he had been quickly submerged into the breath-taking coldness of the cloying black water that enveloped him. Jesus, it had been so cold it had burned through him, paralysing every muscle.

He shuddered remembering the discomfort and then his mind sought more attractive memories and dizzily skittered off into thoughts of the shapely form of Mindy, the ranch owner's daughter! Man could she ride! One time….

Shit! Peck stopped the thought with great difficulty. He didn't blame his mind for seeking out happier and safer times, for wanting to be anywhere else but here. However, it was not going to help him with what he had to do. He needed his focus and, though the memory of Mindy's warm, lithe body writhing beneath him would have brought a smile to his face, if one had not already been locked in place by his jaw's inability to move any more, it would not get him through the next few minutes. Probably nothing would, he thought to himself as he nodded to BA. Then he proceeded to float the hastily constructed little raft full of C-4 in front of him, took a deep breath to sink himself as deeply as he could into the soul-sapping water until only his eyes and above was visible above the blanket of waterweed that seemed to be seeking to suffocate him and pull him deep under the river's surface. Forcing his mind to concentrate, he took a deep breath and began to move as silently as he could towards the bridge.

As if he wasn't in big enough trouble already, now he was not following the Colonel's plan as well! But it had all gone to hell so quickly, they had all had to improvise immediately. Didn't matter anyway, Peck figured, he had blown it with the Colonel, just like he did with everybody else eventually. When they got, no …… if they got back to Da Nang ….. and he actually survived the tetanus that was raging through him, he was off the Team anyway. He had proved himself to be true to type - one selfish bastard and even the great Hannibal Smith had given up on him. Unwilling to admit the shame of his failure Peck forced himself to react to it with the hard-hearted tactic he had developed over long years of rejection. In a bizarre inverted sort of way he felt almost proud that he had managed to blow even this gig – he just hoped he was as good at blowing bridges as he was his own reputation!

Only an hour before, Colonel Smith, his eyes glinting with his arrogance and his hands already tight around the M60 had wished them luck as he watched them leave. The atmosphere had been terrifically tense ever since his confrontation with Peck. The Lieutenant had not said a word to anyone, could not even bring himself to look his CO in the eye. He knew he had deserved the torrent of abuse. He knew that everything the Colonel had said was true and he knew he had only been pretending, acting out a role to fill another man's boots. He had been conning everyone – himself more than anyone else; put simply he was not good enough for this Team, for these brave men. There was nothing left for him to say, so he had waited, sullenly silent, as Lowrie and BA prepared and then he had left, leading the way, never once looking up at the Colonel; sparing himself the look of hurt and betrayal that he knew he would see there.

It had taken longer than he had hoped to get to the river. BA had never mentioned the pain he was in but the big guy seemed to visibly pale and an unnatural sheen of sweat glistened across his forehead as he stumbled manfully along the track, refusing the offered help of the other men. Peck had empathised with the Sergeant for his own legs felt they were made of stone and his senses were dimming rapidly. Consequently, they had taken their time, slowly and quietly making their way through the bush until the banks of the river came into sight. Without a sound, save for a pained exhale of breath, BA had carefully lowered himself to the ground and started to prepare the explosives. Lowrie had cut down some bamboo and lashed the lengths together, working them into the small raft construction.

Realising he was not needed at this point, Peck had forced his tremoring legs to carry him carefully as he made his way along the water's edge and peered upstream towards the bridge. He could make out the silhouettes of at least five soldiers dark against the green extensive jungle beyond.

He glanced down at his watch – only an hour till dusk. They would wait for the cover of darkness. He forced himself to breathe slowly. God, he felt flaky as hell but at least his job was done – it was down to Lowrie now. Grudgingly he allowed himself to admit that maybe the Colonel had been right – he was too far gone to contemplate blowing the bridge himself. He glanced down at his hand again and saw how much it was shaking. No, it was surely better to do what he could to help Lowrie. Ignoring his pain and fatigue, he set about carving out a sheltered spot for himself in the undergrowth where he could cover Lowrie as he set the explosives. Hiding place constructed, he limped wearily back to the others.

Lowrie was working the explosive into three separate bundles, and BA was fixing the detonating cord to each one.

"C-4," Lowrie muttered as he worked the substance through his fingers. "Plastic explosive popular cos it's easy to carry, lightweight, got a stable nature, and a shit-full of explosive power." He sucked in his lips with admiration before continuing. "Malleable with a texture similar to play dough, it can be formed into a shaped charge of infinite configuration. This mother won't explode without use of detonation devices, even when dropped, beaten, shot or burned." He demonstrated by thumping the substance in his hand. "And best of all, it won't be destabilized by water, an important consideration given the Gook climate and the swim I'm gonna take with it in the Rao Lao River."

"Lowrie," Peck hissed as he came up to them, his M16 slung unenthusiastically over his shoulder. "Have you eaten a goddamn munitions manual or what?"

"Sorry, Sir – just nervous I guess!" He smiled his toothy grin. "Do you want me to tell you the capabilities of the Colonel's M60?"

"No," Peck said dismissively, making no effort to control his irritation or humour the kid. "Just shut the fuck up!"

Suddenly a cold shiver rippled down the Lieutenant's sweaty back. A life spent saving his own skin principally because nobody else gave a damn about it, had given Peck the most attuned survival instinct and even though his body was on the verge of complete collapse, it was as if a claxon of danger blared stridently over all the other messages his fevered brain was trying to take in. Something was wrong. He stiffened and BA, sensing his disquiet, looked up at him, dark eyes wide with questions.

"Lay chilly!" Peck hissed and all three men seemed to dissolve with practised skill into the vegetation about them.

Peck gulped, his ears straining to hear any evidence that his instinct had been right. God, he was so strung out now, he really feared he could not trust his instincts at all. Long seconds drifted lazily out before them and nothing. Just when Peck believed he must have been mistaken, that his danger claxon was as fucked as the rest of him, they came stealthily but slowly towards him – three VC blending in to the background so well it was only possible to see their movement when it had gone. They were like hounds on a hunt; sniffing, eyes scouring the surroundings, and ears straining. They moved through the jungle in a manner that only men born to such stealth could accomplish.

Agonisingly, and to his horror, Peck's body chose that particular moment to spasm and the movement caused the vegetation around him to move; leaves and branches nosily rustled and treacherously revealed his position. Three pairs of slanted eyes instantly drilled into the spot where the young Lieutenant hid. Peck tried to remain motionless but he could feel the overwhelming contraction slowly building in his muscles once more. His stomach, empty but churning, threatened to rumble and his breathing suddenly seemed to rasp hoarsely. He was going to move soon and he was powerless to stop it. Raw, bitter panic raged through him – his own body was about to betray them all and there wasn't a goddamn thing he could do about it.

One of the VC took a step towards his hiding place. Peck fought his straining body, desperately clinging to his control but knowing he was about to lose it. He fought his fear, fought the fuzziness in his mind, trying to fix his focus, frantic to find sharp and clear thought once more; to think a way out of this impossible situation.

Just as the spasm hit him and his bowels froze with fear, there was a movement over to his right more dynamic than his spasm; a movement that could do nothing but attract the eager eyes of the enemy. Lowrie leapt from his hiding place, turned tail and ran, disappearing immediately into the jungle, back the way they had come.

One of the VC cried out an order and as one all three men chased after Lowrie.

No so clever, Peck thought, critical of the enemy tactics as he closed his eyes, ran his shuddering hand across his brow and made himself breathe again. He was thankful that all of the VC had followed Lowrie, and an instant wave of guilt rushed through him at the thought. He felt a tightening around his chest and he was suddenly fearful that he would not be able to get enough air into his lungs.

"Lieutenant!" BA's hiss cut through his panic.

Peck gulped again – it wasn't getting any easier to breathe but he knew he had to move and quickly. There was no way they could wait until dark, not now.

"Peck!" BA was urgently calling him again.

"OK," the Lieutenant managed to get out but his voice was hoarse and weak and he dissolved into a coughing fit as his lungs fought to fill.

"You gotta do it," BA had crawled forward out of the tree where he had been hiding and was staring sympathetically at Peck as the Lieutenant fought to find his composure.

Peck snorted. "It's all gone Fubar ," he muttered.

"'Does with Hannibal's plans," Baracus smiled knowingly. "Gotta make the best of it!"

Peck shuddered. "I don't know if I can, BA," he disclosed wearily, his blue eyes wide and sparkling above the dirty smudges on his face.

"Sure you can!" Baracus reached forward. "You gave me pantyhose. This is nothing, man!"

Peck chuckled feebly and wiped the moisture from his eyes with the back of his violently shaking hand. "Piece of cake?"

BA nodded. "Just get it as close to the bridge as you can, Lieutenant. I'll do the rest!"

And that was how Peck found himself shivering in the surprisingly cold water, stripped down to only his pants and his vest, his mind desperate to think about anything else but his present situation as he took ginger steps over the deceitful roots that scattered unseen at the bottom of the river. Slowly but surely he made his way towards the bridge, keeping as close to the bank as he could, the detonation cord stretching behind him back to where BA waited, his finger itching on the button.

The sound of gun fire suddenly cracked through the humid jungle air – an M60, if Peck's ears were not mistaken. The Colonel was in on the action. Jesus, Peck hoped that Lowrie had made it to him. They were all out there, doing their bit, risking everything that they had, so he had the chance. Don't screw it up, Peck, he kept repeating in his head. You got to do it for them, if nothing else.

But even as he moved forward he could not control the spasming. The muscle in his leg locked and he tripped forwards, falling into the water with a splash. The sodden blackness engulfed him as he threw his hands out in front of himself, struggling to find his feet once more. For a dreadful moment he believed the strength in his legs was gone and he was destined to drown in this goddamn river. But then, finally, his left foot jammed against a root on the slippery floor and he managed to stop his right from slipping further. His hands caught hold of the long grass at the side and he pulled himself up, gasping for breath as his face broke the surface, his already struggling lungs barely able to function. The seriousness of his circumstances hit him anew and he was suddenly aware of voices from the bridge.

Shit! Cursing himself for his stupidity, he stumbled towards the safe cover of the bank. Once there, he pushed his head as far back into the weeds growing on the river bank as he could. He tried to ignore the dirt and the insects that were making his head their evening meal. His vision was blurring now and his lungs screaming, so he closed his eyes and cowered. He wanted to cough so badly but he swallowed back the compulsion. Jesus, his head was thumping, matching the rhythmic tattoo of his straining heart. Thank God for adrenaline, for he knew, without its power, he would have rolled over and given up long ago. Even so he feared it was not enough, as he waited for the bullets from the VC on the bridge who must have heard his goddamn swan-dive, to rip into his defenceless body ….. but amazingly nothing happened.

Gulping, he opened his eyes and forced them to focus on the scene before him. He was near the bridge now and he could hear the murmur of the voices of enemy soldiers above him. Already on their guard, they must be peering out into the river, eagerly scanning the scene to pick him out but from the timbre of their voices they had not seen him yet – how in hell hadn't they?

Keep it together, Peck, you lucky son of a bitch, he told himself, as he began to move forwards again. Five minutes and it'll be over. You can hold on to your head for just five minutes surely? Five minutes, that's just three hundred seconds! Any incompetent idiot could last that long. Just keep walking; one foot in front of the other. Make those muscles work, it's not hard.

He was almost there, almost at the bridge. He blocked out everything else – the continuing fire fight away in the jungle, the swooping flies around his head, the pain, the fear… he acknowledged none of it. He simply kept his eyes firmly fixed on the nearest leg section of the bridge that he was aiming for. He did not deviate, he stumbled and he wobbled on legs that were weakening with every step but very slowly he got nearer and nearer to his goal. Finally, pushing the raft and its cargo of C-4 in front of him, he reached out a shuddering hand to clasp hold of his prize…..

…..but he never got there.

Instead, suddenly between him and the bridge there appeared an upside down face. A face that was absurdly contorted and screaming unintelligible words at him; flecks of spittle sprayed onto Peck's features as his tortured brain laboured to comprehend what was happening to him.

The face disappeared and strong arms reached down to roughly take hold of his shoulders, pulling him upwards. No, his mind screamed, this could not be happening! He hadn't planted the C-4 yet. They couldn't stop him, not now, not now he was so close, and all those brave men had given their all for him.

Peck tried to fight, struggling, he flexed his shoulders, for once the muscular spasms aiding him. But still the hands stayed firm, resolutely but surely forcing him upwards. Desperately as he was pulled from the water, Peck managed to retain hold of his wits, he glanced down at where the small raft bobbed on the water, out of sight of the men above him on the bridge. As his legs came up, he kicked out desperately with his left foot, connecting with the raft, he ignored the rush of pain, as he lifted it and forced the wood and the precious explosive on it into the small gap were the leg support met the main section of the bridge. Peck let out a growl of triumph as the bamboo caught and stuck fast.

Then he was out of the water, thrown to the floor, and lying sodden and shivering pathetically on the bridge. The VC were screaming at him, kicking, thumping and battering. However, it was not getting through to him as his senses closed down; he did not care. They could do whatever they wanted to him. He had done it; he had succeeded, maybe not with the finesse he had wanted or in the way that they had hoped – they had planned to place C-4 explosives on each of the three leg stanchions of the bridge - but he had placed it. All BA had to do was blow it!

Peck lay on the bridge at the centre of the anger of his enemy but he was cocooned from it. Their blows and kicks fell around his body but he did not feel them, neither did he hear their screams of hatred. He closed his eyes tightly, and curled into a ball as his tortured body began to close down and he felt himself letting go.

Then he was aware of being lifted and dragged. And something began to itch at his conscious, something that would not allow him to embrace the oblivion that threatened to seduce him, something that forced him to pull his mind back from the brink. What the hell was it? He fell over his own mind, the haziness even more confusing than before, so debilitating that he did not know where he was, did not remember what he was doing.

Jesus, what a time to lose your sanity, Peck! This thing was important to you, you've suffered so much for it; surely you should remember it now?

He felt strong arms again pull him up and he was forced to his knees. His hands were stretched behind his back and secured tightly as the muscles in his shoulders clamoured painfully but no louder than every other screeching fibre in his body. He ignored all the noise of his pain, though his wounded leg, forced to kneel, felt like his muscle was being ripped away. He ignored the VC soldier who was again screaming at him, only inches away from his face and he ignored the fact that his mouth would not move at all now. He ignored it all but still the irritation of not being able to remember itched at him. There was something more important than all of this, he knew; he just needed to remember what it was.

The bridge! The goddamn bridge! The thought crashed through him and with it panic, complete and utter. Why hadn't Baracus blown the goddamn thing? Or had he? Had Peck missed the explosion in his senseless hovering on the brink of oblivion?

Fighting for breath, he struggled to still his watery vision, sort to look past the VC still screaming in his face and growing ever more angry at Peck's seeming indifference to his rage, but he was suitably reassured when Peck let out a grown of complete despair as the scene he was peering at finally stilled in front of his straining eyes. A cold claw of defeat clutched at the Lieutenant's bowels and squeezed tightly as his hope died.

The bridge was still there; still standing. Peck had been roughly pulled up the bank, away from it as it stood arrogant but immaculate, still joining both river banks with the road that would bring much needed supplies to the Viet Cong.

Blow the goddamn thing, BA! What the hell was he waiting for? Any minute now the VC would surely see the detonation wire that lead straight back to the big guy's hiding place like a goddamn road sign, they would pull it out and nullify the explosive, rendering everything they had gone through as completely pointless. So why hadn't Baracus pressed the button already?

Peck wanted to scream! He could not believe that he had been through so much, got so close, to be stopped at this point. Blow it BA!

His previously crumbling mind was suddenly sharply focused by the fear raging through him as he sought to understand what was happening. Didn't the big guy realise he had to do it? He just had to! He had to do it for all of them? For Tray and Luther? For Pod and Hernandez whose bodies were already rotting into the mud of this humid, stinking jungle. For Caleb who had blown himself to pieces what seemed like a lifetime ago? For the Colonel and Lowrie whose bullets, even now, were still strafing through the air as they courageously continued the fight. And for Brennan, Baker and Willie who were never going to make it back.

Come on BA blow it! Goddamn it!

Surely the big guy was not hesitating out of some misplaced loyalty to Peck! He had been pulled off the bridge and although he was still close to it, couldn't Baracus understand that it did not matter any more? That none of it mattered? It did not matter what happened from this moment on. Couldn't BA see that the Lieutenant was already dead? Sure his heart was still beating and there was enough of him left for the VC to beat the hell out of for fun for a little while at least but he was a dead man walking. Finally his body was closing down and he had stopped fighting it, consequently the spasming was now constantly ripping through him viciously. The VC was screaming at him because he thought Peck was smiling conceitedly at him; if he only knew! None of it mattered! The goddamn bacteria that was in Peck's bloodstream was not going to be denied, gradually it had moved through the whole of his body and now it was ready to take his life.

Couldn't BA see that? Was he hesitating because he feared for Peck? Lord, couldn't he see that the only hope there was left for the pathetic conman was for the bridge to be blown? The only redemption for Lieutenant Templeton Peck would be found in the destruction of that bridge; to succeed just for once, it didn't matter if it cost him everything he was, in fact it would be a blessed release. Couldn't Baracus see that?

So blow it BA! Please! Blow the goddamn thing!

If Peck could have screamed he would have, as the tears of frustration rolled down his cheeks. He huddled on his knees in the dirt, river water dripping from him, shoulders bowed but eyes spitting their defiance. Though his mouth would not work, the words roared around his head. "Save me, BA! Save us all! Blow the goddamn bridge! Make it worth the waste, please!"

And then all hell broke lose.

The very air seemed to tremble with a thunderous roar that burst Peck's ear drums as the earth leapt upwards and rumbled like a terrific earthquake. He was thrown from his feet, born on the wings of the blast, rolling out of control over himself until he came to an unexpected and horrific stop as his body slammed into a tree. His final scrap of strength was knocked from him, and he plummeted to the floor, where he cowered pathetically. He managed to throw his arms over his head as water cascaded downwards all about him in fountains of wild wetness, impregnated by various lengths of bamboo and twine. The smell of burning was sharp and acrid on the air as the whole environment degenerated around him and Peck had the alarming thought that he had been swallowed into the very jaws of hell itself as everything was consumed in fire.

And then as quickly as it had come, the fire was gone, to be replaced by smoke, putrid, black and suffocating, it hung on the air. Peck's lungs, already faltering, simply could not cope with the added workload of filtering the oxygen from the cloying, heavy gas. His diaphragm and the muscles between his ribs began to spasm violently. He was coughing, gagging, trying hard to take just the next breath but he could not. His whole body was simply wracked as he gripped hard at the dirt beneath him, clutching desperately. Still he could not breathe, he was retching and choking, every muscle in his body contorting as pure purple pain crashed through him.

His back went ramrod straight, stiff as a board, and the tenuous grasp he still held on his consciousness told him he could not survive this final, agonising crisis. But that it did not matter. He had succeeded, achieved what he had set out to do and that was sufficient. He would never be a true member of Colonel Hannibal Smith's A Team but for a few short days and one successful mission – they had achieved their objective, no matter the cost - he had been the Colonel's Executive Officer. For a guy who had never really been a part of anything else in his life, Peck suddenly realised it was enough – he had improved his reputation, the immortal part of himself, at least.

That thought was the last one that rolled around Peck's head before he stopped fighting, allowing the tetanus bacteria its ultimate victory, he finally let go and embraced the blessed release that had been calling to him for so long.

TBC


	8. Chapter 8

**THE COLONEL'S BOY**

**Part 8**

"_O! I have lost my reputation! I have lost the immortal part of myself, and what remains is bestial."_

_Othello, 2. 2_

_William Shakespeare_

Major Walker Munro of the 101st Airborne Division did not like to be obliged to anybody, and neither did he like to miss out on the action. A career soldier, he was just too young for Korea but had prayed another war would come along so he could see 'real' action – pretending was just no fun for Major Munro. That said he was a stern but good soldier, brave almost to the point of stupidity, he would not, however, put any of his men into a position that he would not also expose himself to.

He had wanted the gig to blow the bridge over the Rao Lao River or at least find its co-ordinates, for his own guys and to be overlooked for a Green Beret Unit, whatever its reputation, was galling to him to say the least. He had, nevertheless, like any good soldier accepted his orders, believing that his own men were too precious to risk on a mere bridge and knowing that there were bigger offensives planned for later in the year.

Still, when he got the call to bail out the aforementioned A Team, he could not help but allow a self-satisfied smile to play across his normally severe features. He did manage to bite back the conceited observation that threatened to escape his arrogant lips when his Commanding Officer briefed him for the mission – 'You send monkeys to do a man's job, you end up with peanuts!'

Now, as he and his men made hard work of humping their way up the A Shau valley, he found himself thinking that maybe it wasn't too accurate an analogy after all. When he saw the terrain, he began to realise it would be a miracle if he and his men got out alive, let alone found anyone from the A Team to rescue.

At his side Lieutenant Ray Brenner forced the pace. He alone, of the three men sent to find re-enforcements, had made it back to Da Nang fit enough to come back. The other two grunts were already on their way home – one in a body bag and one via a military hospital in Japan.

Brenner was a credit to his unit and had earned Munro's admiration, not an easy feat for a jarhead, with his seemingly limitless energy. Christ, he had only just managed to get out of this place; what sort of a lunatic would be so eager to get back into hell? But Munro knew what was pushing the marine on. He knew the reputation of this particular group of soldiers and their leader, Colonel John Smith, in particular. It was a testament to these men that Brenner was so eager to face anything to get them back.

The valley was dense and claustrophobic, they should have had no air cover but that was another strange thing about this mission, Munro's mind had noted. One of the Huey pilots, Captain Murdock, had persuaded his crew that they could fly in and do the dust off. Munro crinkled his nose in disbelief as he looked around himself; God knew how Murdock was going to accomplish that, what with VC everywhere and the jungle packed close with trees. Still the Captain had been adamant and his crew had backed him – Murdock, Munro had found out later, was Smith's regular pilot and had begged for the mission. Brenner had also persuaded a medic to fly along too – one Eli Abraham. Munro glance upwards, they were all waiting up in the big blue sky far above the suffocating canopy, just eager to swoop down and pick up any of Smith's boys that they could find.

Munro flicked the buzzing flies away from his sweating face – man this whole place was wearisome to the extreme. Shit, it may be a beautiful valley but it wasn't any place to fight a war. As he turned to check on the men behind him a sudden volley of machine gun fire cracked through the air, not too far in front of them.

Brenner tensed noticeably. "Sounds like the Colonel," he muttered. "Come on!"

They hit the small clearing full on. It took only a few seconds for the VC in the area to suddenly realise that they were instantly and vastly outnumbered. Rather than fight the uneven odds, Charlie melted away, as was his uncanny ability, into the anonymity of the jungle around him.

Munro motioned for some of his men to follow. "Call in the chopper," he ordered his radio man and then took a longer look around. There were numerous bodies of VC stacked up to his left between the trees, faces set in grim and grotesque death masks as their blood dripped unneeded now onto the jungle floor and the flies buzzed hungrily.

The Major had seen such sights many times in his career and it fazed him not at all. What was more shocking in a way was what he saw when he turned to his right; and perceived, behind a tripoded M60, a mop of unruly, greying and dirty hair above a grimy face with the most intensely blue eyes blazing out like beacons in the night, that he had ever seen.

"Smith," Munro breathed for he recognised the Colonel whom he had met once before.

It was indeed Hannibal Smith, smiling broadly around the battered remains of what once, long ago, had probably been a cigar but was now simply a damp, wizened, brown thing. "Greetings!" Smith shouted. "What took you so long?" He glanced down ruefully. "I would get up but my legs aren't working so well at the moment!"

The Major snorted but Smith looked past him to where Brenner lingered. "Ray," he beamed. He took the pathetic lump from his mouth. "You bring me another cigar?"

The usually poised Brenner looked incredibly uncomfortable. "Sorry, Sir," he muttered. "Didn't cross my mind. I was too busy organising this rescue."

Smith shook his head in disappointment before re-inserting the old stoogie into his mouth. "The little things are important, Ray," he said. "Gotta get the details right. We've talked about this and this is exactly why you're never gonna make my XO!"

"I know it, Sir," Brenner agreed humbly. "One thing at a time for me!" He glanced about the glade, and nodded at Lowrie who had just appeared from behind a tree. "Where is Peck anyway?"

Smith's eyes seemed to fade a little and he glanced northwards in the direction of the bridge. He opened his mouth to respond but the air suddenly began to vibrate and the branches of the trees flapped as the lowering helicopter generated a wind that whipped through the glade.

Smith looked up. "Murdock?" he asked.

Brenner nodded. "Come to take you home in style – beats humping any day! Let me help you up, Sir!"

The Lieutenant helped the Colonel to his feet after Lowrie moved the machine gun away. As he stood it became evident that Smith's stomach wound had re-opened and his blood was bright and scarlet on the grubby grey bandage that circled his waist. The Colonel simply ignored it.

They walked slowly to the chopper that was hovering only inches above the ground, its rota blades cutting swathes from the branches of the trees nearby. Munro and his men had to duck as debris rained to the floor. As they neared the waiting bird, the whole valley seemed to stutter and quake and seconds later, on a different frequency to the noise of the chopper the sound of a blast roared through it.

"Jesus!" Munro cursed. "What the hell was that?"

"The sound of success!" Smith breathed triumphantly as they reached the bird.

Shouting over the ear-thumping noise, Munro asked again. "What the hell was that?"

"That was the bridge over the Rao Lao River, Major," Smith smiled. The medic helped him climb stiffly aboard and the Colonel slapped a hand through into the cockpit to pat Murdock on the back of his shoulder.

"But it wasn't your…." Munro spluttered.

"Murdock!" Smith's voice cut over him. "Can you take this baby north, to where the cloud of smoke is coming from? We got more passengers to pick up."

"It's one hot LZ over there but I don't see why not, Colonel," the pilot responded with glee.

"But….!" Munro snorted.

Smith turned back to him, his smile arrogant and knowing. "North, Major!" Smith commanded. "You're looking for my Sergeant and my XO – you can't miss either; they're both memorable in their own ways!"

With that the Huey was gone, lifting up through the green canopy and cutting off more branches to fall down on the bewildered Major and his men.

Army Medic Eli Abraham gazed around himself at the newly entered occupants he was now sharing the back of the helicopter with. Abraham was beginning to shake like he always did just before the fighting started when the adrenaline hit his system and before he could actually 'do' anything. He gulped and tired to still his jumpy nerves by concentrating on visually examining each man around him.

Over in the dim depths of the craft the Corporal sat. His stained and ruined uniform still pronounced his name as 'Lowrie', proudly on his left breast. He was young but his features that were visible below his helmet appeared to be strangely grey and lifeless although Abraham could see no wound. The kid's eyes were tightly closed but his mouth was moving. The medic concentrated trying to pickup what the Corporal was saying over the noise of the chopper.

"The Bell UH-1 helicopter is one of aviation's true success stories. Thousands of the aircraft have been made in a number of variations, serving a multitude of roles. Called the "Iroquois" by the United States Army, the aircraft is much better known by its nickname of "Huey," derived from its initial designation of HU-1….."

Abraham shook his head dismissively and shifted his glance on to Brenner, who was perched on the edge of his seat straining to look over the Colonel's shoulder.

Brenner as if sensing the eyes looking at him turned around and smiled. "How do, Eli!" he said.

Brenner was the reason Abraham was here; the Lieutenant was a friend. They had developed their acquaintance after meeting on an earlier mission. Brenner had been impressed by the medic's ability and he had sought him out to brush up on his own medical knowledge. When others had been relaxing in the hootch or drinking at the OC, Ray had been learning the skills from Abraham that he hoped would keep himself and his comrades alive.

On his return to the base, Ray had approached Abraham desperate to find a medic to accompany Murdock on this particular dust off. Although Abraham had been initially unsure, he figured that Brenner was a good guy and if he needed help, he should at least try. And that was how he found himself now sharing the company of these tense but weary men.

Abraham's eyes moved onwards. In front of Brenner and leaning out of the Huey over the jungle below, Abraham noted the infamous Colonel Smith. Brenner had told him a lot about the Colonel's methods and Abraham was not surprised to see him so fearless in action. He had, however, noted the bleeding wound, on Smith's stomach as he entered the helicopter.

"Colonel," he shouted. "I need to look at your stomach, your wound."

The grey haired head turned a little. "Not now, kid," Smith shot back over his shoulder. "I'm not through yet."

"But…."

Brenner reached out and laid his other hand on the medic's arm, shaking his head slowly. Abraham rolled his eyes but could take the point. He had been in Nam long enough to know the stresses and strains of the place had an effect on everyone's psyche but these boys had to be worse than most! Guess he should have known when Brenner had told him that crazy Murdock was flying that this was going to be an interesting mission. Abraham sighed – man, there was enough material here for the psychology doctorate he was hoping to study for after he got out of this shit and went back home.

Brenner looked at him again. "You got the shots ready?" he asked.

Abraham nodded. The Lieutenant had told him he suspected that one of the Team had contracted tetanus. Hell; that was the reason Abraham had finally agreed to come along – a medic didn't get the chance to treat the disease very often nowadays because everyone got their shots, and from a purely professional viewpoint, Abraham wanted to see this. He had made sure he had the correct tetanus immune globulin available and had read up as best he could in the short time before they set off. But still he was beginning to get jittery now the moment was drawing close.

"You see anything, Captain?" Smith asked, leaning out so far that Brenner had to grab hold of his shirt to hold him in.

The scent of smoke had gradually begun to fill up the compartment, sending fingers of scratching soreness into all of their lungs where it hovered annoyingly.

"Looks hot down there," Murdock responded. "Too much smoke to see what's going on."

"Can we go in?" Smith pressed.

Hoffmann, Murdock's co-pilot shot him a warning glance that was eloquent in its trepidation but the Captain just grimly set his jaw. "Negative muchacho, we ain't going without our buddies!" the pilot muttered to his partner, then in a louder voice to those listening in the back of the helicopter. "For BA and Peck? 'Course we can, Colonel!"

They began to descend then. More smoke clawing at them and Lowrie let out a cough as he continued, "Bell was chosen in 1955 to provide the army with a utility helicopter capable of serving as a front-line medical evacuation aircraft, a general utility aircraft, and an instrument training aircraft. Deliveries to the U.S. Army began in 1959……"

"See anything?" Brenner asked.

"Whole lot of smoke…" Smith began

"..on the water, and fire in the sky!" Murdock sang.

"What?" Hoffmann asked.

Murdock shrugged. "Makes a hell of a good lyric – don't you think?"

Hoffmann just shook his head; flying with Murdock, he was used to moments of complete incredulity, often.

"There!" Murdock shouted and they all strained to see where he indicated.

Irritatingly slowly the helicopter blades blew the smoke and it cleared to reveal an area of sheer devastation. In complete contrast to the green lushness of the surrounding jungle, a patch of land around the river was completely devoid of life and colour. Everything was hewn from varying colours of grey. Trees had been blown down, vegetation blasted and pieces of bamboo thrown about. A few fires still burned and the whole lot was covered with ashen dust. And in the middle of it all a prone darker figure shuddering violently could be clearly made out.

"The kid!" Hannibal breathed. "Take us in Murdock!"

As they went lower the Colonel turned back. "Ray, you and the medic, need to go get him."

With only a quick nod, Brenner followed by Abraham, clutching his med-bag to him, leapt from the hovering helicopter and made their way through the swirling smoke and dust to where the trembling body lay.

"Peck," Brenner muttered as they knelt beside the shuddering form. He realised with a guilty start that he had forgotten the kid's first name. Somehow, taking in the fearful sight before him, he didn't think it would matter, from the state Peck was in he was not going to notice the lapse!

"Shit!" Abraham breathed, kneeling down beside the strongly spasming figure. He had suspected that Brenner, once he saw the glint of interest in the medic's eyes, had exaggerated the soldier's symptoms to get him here but now he could see it was true – the unfortunate before him was most certainly in the latter stages of a tetanus infection. He ticked off all the signs – temperature, rapid and fluttering heartbeat, excessive sweating, abdominal muscle rigidity, back and neck stiffness and the typical locked jaw and facial muscles making the soldier's obviously handsome features look like he was smiling. It was a classic case.

"We got to get him to the chopper!" Brenner said.

"Not yet!" Abraham retorted; his fear and apprehension of earlier gone, to be replaced by the calm assuredness and confidence that his training gave him. His eyes ran over the patient as he made a quick assessment. All of the symptoms were bad enough but there was one far more important than the rest – the patient had acute respiratory failure!

"But we…" Brenner began to argue.

"Can it, Ray!" Abraham snapped. "He's not going anywhere unless we get him breathing properly." Jesus; what a state – so this was Lieutenant Peck who they had risked so much to save, well the kid was almost dead and turning blue beneath the dirt. Abraham didn't give much for his chances but that didn't mean he wasn't gonna try with all he damn well had. "Clear his airways, Ray," he directed. "Start to resuscitate him, just like we practised."

Ray's eyes flashed uncontrollably. "But…"

At that moment the air was filled with the harsh disjointed rattle of gun fire. Brenner's sentence was never finished as he gasped and fell forwards clutching at his arm where a new wound was bursting forth an angry torrent of scarlet blood.

"Ray?" Abraham asked, feeling his control slipping – he really did not need another casualty, not now.

"I'm OK!" Brenner spat through gritted teeth, pulling himself back up to his knees.

Abraham glanced at him, saw the wound. "Like hell," he muttered, wondering how the hell he was going to resuscitate Peck now. As if to increase his concern, Peck began to retch pitifully.

Another rush of bullets whizzed over their heads, Abraham glanced up to see a VC soldier's body falling only yards away from them. He looked back and saw the Colonel in the chopper lowering his gun, his eyes gleaming. Lowrie jumped from the bird and moved to kneel beside them, M16 raised as he scanned the grey gloom for movement in front of him.

Even here, Abraham thought he could hear the Corporal vaguely mumbling, "Powered by a 1,400 SHP Avco Lycoming engine, the Huey has a cruising speed of 127 mph and a range of 318 miles. Fast and highly manoeuvrable, the Huey has proved far superior to the CH-21 or CH-34 as an assault helicopter……"

"Shit, Lowrie – I need help!" Abraham shouted, forcing his growing panic away. Below him Peck was fighting for breath like a fish gasping ineffectively on the quayside.

Suddenly the medic became aware of another figure, kneeling down next to him. "I got it, doc!" Murdock said with totally inappropriate joviality as he reached out to take hold of Peck. "You want me to 'resus'?" he asked.

"Just do it!" Abraham confirmed.

The pilot nodded, staring down at Peck who was clutching at him, gagging, his eyes wide with terror and alarm, Murdock's mind tried desperately to remember what he had been taught in training and then set about clearing Peck's airways before bending forwards to blow life-giving air into the Lieutenant's spasming lungs.

Meanwhile Abraham rummaged in his bag – dammit, he had left the oxygen in the chopper! No matter, he told himself, Murdock could cope for now. He took hold of Peck's fiercely contracting leg in one hand, ignoring the foul smelling fluid that was draining from the evil looking wound and with the syringe he had already prepared in the other, he injected the tetanus immune globulin straight into the muscle just above the cut. He then proceeded to administer muscle relaxants as well as antibiotics into Peck's arm, praying that they would not adversely increase the strength of the spasms that were crashing through him.

On the chopper Hoffmann, now in control and holding it steady, looked at the empty seat where Murdock had been sitting until he leapt out to help the wounded man. "We need to get out of here – we're a sitting duck!" Hoffmann muttered but there was nobody there to hear.

"How we doing?" Abraham asked as he jabbed the last lot of antibiotics into Peck's arm.

"Dunno," Murdock replied, between breaths.

"He breathing on his own?"

"Maybe!" Murdock sat back on his haunches and eyed the blond Lieutenant critically. Sure enough Peck's chest was raising and falling of its own accord.

"OK, good job, Captain. Now keep watching him." Abraham stood up.

"Where you going?" the pilot's voice had more than a trace of panic in it.

"Left the oxygen on the Huey – it'll help. I'll be back in a sec." He ran back to the bird.

Smith's intense blue eyes flashed as the medic reached across him to get the bottle of oxygen. "We're not gonna lose him, not this one, OK?" he said bluntly.

Abraham nodded. "I'm working on it!"

Peck's eyes were flashing fearfully as Abraham returned to them once more. The medic knelt down and slipped the oxygen mask over the Lieutenant's taunt features. Peck tried weakly to sit up but Murdock took a firm hold of him. "Calm down, kid," he purred. "You're real lucky – I don't normally kiss on a first date!"

At that moment a number of dark figures seemed to loom out of the mist coming from the river. Lowrie tensed but lowered his gun as he made out the forms of two American GIs helping between them a big, blustering figure. "BA?" Lowrie shouted. "That you?"

"Of course!" Baracus responded, hobbling horrifically up the hill towards them.

Abraham took it all in. "Get him to the chopper and help Ray in too!" he said dismissively as he turned the whole of his attention back to Peck.

"BA! Buddy!" Murdock shouted. "I missed you so much!"

Baracus scowled, his eyes narrowed as they took in the hovering helicopter and the pilot kneeling some way away on the ground. "Nobody told me the fool was flying!" he grumbled and made as if to turn right around again.

Murdock pouted. "I'm not flying dummy, the Lieutenant here is taking advantage of me – I got no wings right now but when I get back in my bird, hey, I'm the fastest ride out. If we could just get our lazy passenger here to put me down and breathe for himself then we'd be ready to go, and we could be on our way."

Baracus growled a response but it was lost in the roar of the chopper. As he reached it, Smith clasped a relieved arm around the Sergeant, helping him to climb in and then reached across to do the same for Brenner. Muttering to himself, Baracus sat down as Smith patted him supportively on the back and then turned to the two GIs. "Secure the area and report back to your Major." They nodded and disappeared back into the gloom.

"Captain!" Smith shouted. "Can you speed it up a bit?"

Murdock shot Abraham a questioning glance. "Couple more minutes!" The medic bellowed back.

"Great!" Hoffmann muttered.

"Cheer up, Sonny!" Murdock hollered over his shoulder, realising his co-pilot would be getting nervous by now. "I promise we'll do some singing on the way home. BA, he's got a lovely baritone, haven't you, BA?"

BA growled. "Ain't singing for nobody, specially you, fool!"

"What happened, BA?" Smith cut across the argument. "You get the bridge?"

"Lieutenant got the bridge, Colonel. Man was cool!"

Smith nodded, a muscle in his jaw flexing. "He's done good!"

Baracus snorted. "I hope you get the chance to tell him so," he muttered.

Abraham was monitoring Peck's improving vital signs. Murdock seemed to have succeeded in bringing the Lieutenant back from the brink and his breathing was steadying. "OK," he decided. "Let's get him to the chopper."

Lowrie moved immediately, and he and Murdock carried the Lieutenant to the waiting bird while Abraham gathered up his bag and followed them.

Murdock was breathing heavily from his exertions as he helped the medic climb inside the belly of the Huey. Then he ran around to the cockpit to climb back into his own seat. "Let's get the show on the road or rather into the air! Any requests from the back?"

"Just get us there as soon as you can, Captain!" Smith responded tersely.

"Don't know that one, Colonel!" Murdock deadpanned.

"Shut up, fool!" Baracus barked. "It's serious back here."

Lowrie was muttering neurotically again. "In 1961 a more powerful version, the UH-1B, was introduced. In 1967, starting with the UH-1D series, the airframe length was increased, giving the Huey a much roomier passenger-cargo compartment capable of carrying more troops or supplies. In 1968 Bell developed a specialized version of the aircraft with a stronger airframe and more powerful engine. The "Huey tug," as it was nicknamed, was capable of lifting loads up to three tons, nearly double that of a conventional Huey……."

The chopper turned in the air and they left the A Shau Valley far below. Major Munro heard the change in engine noise as the chopper moved overhead. He wondered whether Smith had found his men. He sighed, regardless, he had to get his own soldiers out of this hellhole, and they were going to have to walk. There would be other fights and other chances for him as he stoically traversed the path that would take him and his men to Hamburger Hill later that same year.

The atmosphere in the back of the Huey was tense. Peck was lying with his head in the Colonel's lap. His face was obscured by the oxygen mask but his eyebrows were arched at an uncommon angle and his body was still convulsing if a little less violently.

Abraham had rigged up an IV to get much needed fluids into the young man's failing body and was taking observations continuously. His concern over the Lieutenant's condition was not diminishing and he feared Peck would not survive this journey. Experience told him he had done all he could but still his mind was playing over the possible treatment options in his head. "How long?" he called through to Murdock.

"'Bout thirty minutes," the pilot responded, his own voice betraying the tension that everyone felt.

"Radio through to Da Nang," Abraham ordered. "Tell them we have a patient in the final stages of tetanus with severe breathing difficulties. Tell them to get a respirator ready." He looked down at Peck. "He a fish eater?" he asked. Brenner, still squeezing his forearm where the blood was oozing out of his own bullet wound, nodded; the memory of the scene between Peck and Hernandez from just days before flashing back into his mind, maybe the kid should have kept his crucifix after all. "Better get a priest there too," Abraham continued. He noted the hesitation in Lowrie's Huey narrative plus the look of disgust at his language on the Corporal's face and felt the urge to justify himself. "Me; I'm a true blooded kike," he said, fiddling with the IV bottle. "Don't matter the name; what we call each other – we all end up filling the body bags just the same!"

"Or you stop that from happening, doc, what's the prognosis?" Smith asked turning the conversation back to Peck.

Abraham shrugged. "Never seen tetanus so far gone. I've given him the tetanus immune globulin and penicillin plus muscle relaxants to help with the convulsions. Murdock brought him back with the mouth to mouth and he's stabilised a little now but God knows how long he went without breathing properly and the effect that will have. Sooner we get him to hospital…." He left the sentence to hang on the air.

All was quiet for a while except for Lowrie's voice keeping up his monotonous observations, "Combat troops normally ride in the wide doors on each side of the aircraft, and can exit quickly, greatly reducing the time the helicopter is on the ground. Often troops jump from a Huey just above the ground as it "bounces" in and then leaves, with the entire ground time reduced to a matter of seconds…."

Smith looked down and sighed. Blue eyes opened and looked up, though hazed with pain and fear, the Colonel believed they were beseeching him, asking him for absolution. Smith remembered his undeserved words of rebuke in the glade when he allowed his anger full force and felt a sharp shard of guilt cut into him at his impulsive behaviour. The kid had not deserved it. As Smith forced his regret away, knowing it would help neither of them at this moment, the crystal clear memory of another time, a different place, where a pair of oh-so-similar blue eyes pleading with him for help came back to fill the space….. Michael. That time he had been unable to do anything, indeed, had been too late and only managed to watch the life slowly drip from the bottomless blue. Smith shuddered as the fearful thought that history was about to repeat itself ripped through him. He would not let that happen, not again.

Clutching at his courage tightly, he smiled down at the cobalt eyes reassuringly. "You're doing great, kid," he said, lifting his hand to gently brush the filthy blond strands of hair from Peck's wet and pasty forehead. "I'm not going to lose you."

But at the sound of his voice the Lieutenant tensed. Peck's eyes flashed wildly and he began to cough into the mask as his lungs convulsed once again. Although Peck had been drifting uncontrollably, his senses bombarded, he was conscious for most of the time and aware of everything that was going on round him as he fought to breathe. Now with the pure oxygen being pumped into his lungs he had been more relaxed but with the Colonel's voice came memories of harsh words, angrily spoken that flashed through his tortured mind and his tormented muscles tensed agonisingly again.

"Shit!" Abraham breathed as Peck's relatively stable vital signs went to hell once more. He leaned forward, trying to get at his patient.

But Smith refused to let go of his man. "Kid, look at me," he said. And, as the two pairs of blue eyes met, he fused them together with the power of his will, as he continued, "Keep a hold of it. Breathe for me, slowly. You take a deep breath and then let it out nice and slow. I know you can do it!" Smith's eyes held on to those of the younger man, refusing to let him go, his stare mesmerising and all encompassing with its intensity.

"Colonel, I…" Abraham began.

"Easy," Brenner said. "Hannibal knows what he's doing. Peck will listen to him. He wants to be the Colonel's boy, if nothing else!"

Sure enough Peck's spasms were stilling again. He was breathing to the rhythm of Smith's words, his eyes wide with vulnerability and faith but held fast as the Colonel kept talking in a soft but reassuring voice. "I said some pretty dumb stuff to you, kid, out there. You gotta believe that I didn't mean it. Whatever we said, it stays back there in the jungle. It's forgotten, all of it. I want you on my Team, kid. I want you as my Executive Officer but you can't be that if you're dead, now can you? You gotta hold on and keep breathing for me, slowly, deeply. Come on, kid, you can do it. Fight; fight for me and the Team. Come on Lieutenant; show us your courage …. breathe, kid, just breathe!"

Peck's eyes widened as the Colonel spoke. It was obvious that even after all the drugs Abraham had pumped into his system, he still understood what was being said to him. And then almost imperceptibly, he managed to nod as Smith continued, "That's it, kid, you're doing great. I promise you a place on my Team for however long you like. If you want it, you got it. You're one of us, kid! You're mine!"

Everyone sensed it in the back of the helicopter, even Lowrie stopped muttering. Something so strong and magical was happening and it seemed to spark from the Colonel into the boy beneath him. It was pure and chaste and mystical and so powerfully moving that Abraham, who would think on it often later though he was unable to quantify it, realised the only experience to compare with it, were the amazing seconds just following the birth of his children when the whole of the delivery room seemed to pulsate with a strange, indefinable energy. The same, or at least a similar power, seemed to pull Peck from the edge as the young Lieutenant put his anxiety and distress, his pain and suffering behind him and, placing his complete and utter faith in his Colonel, accepted everything Smith said, absolutely.

And though the medic in Abraham knew that the Lieutenant was far from out of danger, some instinct deep inside told him that Peck would survive this chopper flight and they would have no need of a priest at its end, after all.

* * *

TBC 


	9. Chapter 9

**THE COLONEL'S BOY**

**Part 9**

"_O! I have lost my reputation! I have lost the immortal part of myself, and what remains is bestial."_

_Othello, 2. 2_

_William Shakespeare_

Peck lay on the ground unable to consciously move, staring up past the green covering of overhanging trees to the sheer blue sky above him, punctuated only by the tufts of black smoke drifting past. It appeared to the afflicted Lieutenant that the sky had been rippling in a bizarre manner, spasming for some time… or was that his own body? Who could tell and what did it matter? He could not hear and had stopped breathing, stopped thinking, stopped everything because none of it was important. He was calm and, quite bizarrely given the circumstances, he felt outlandishly content, so he simply let go…..

Suddenly he was breathing again but hoarsely with the air being forced into his lungs. Someone was very close, breathing into him, someone familiar and the feeling was not initially unpleasant. But with the oxygen came the pain and the frantic twitching and the fighting struggle to survive. It was all so exhausting this desperate clinging on and deep inside Peck wondered why he should even bother.

The blue of the sky seemed to gather together and focus into two bright twinkling points of light – becoming eyes full of concern and empathy; eyes that reached out to envelope him in their care, eyes that promised him so much. Colonel Smith. Peck would have smiled if he could but the muscles around his mouth were locked tight and constricted by what must be some sort of mask.

However, Peck was touched deeply by the presence of this man and the strength he embodied. How could he deny that intensity, that belief? How could he not do whatever those blue eyes ordered? Even if he could do nothing else, his instinct told him to acquiesce to this man.

"I want you as my Executive Officer but you can't be that if you're dead, now can you? You gotta hold on and keep breathing for me, slowly, deeply. Come on, kid, you can do it!" Smith's voice was soft but reassuring.

So Peck did not even try to resist, instead he surrendered himself to the power that Smith gave him, letting go of everything once more, but this time giving himself over to the blueness of the eyes. And their unwavering command, "Fight; fight for me and the Team. Come on Lieutenant; show us your courage …. breathe, kid, just breathe!" And so Templeton Peck did just that.

Then it was raining; dark splattering drops of cold causing the surprise to shudder through him as they fell from a sky that had lost its blue, gone black with the on-coming night. The pulsating noise of the chopper was receding and he was aware of a wheezing, that he gathered must be coming from his own corroded lungs. The sky was moving above him again and the rain getting faster. His senses seemed to be re-engaging and he began to feel uneasy as he perceived that there were other people near, he knew by the rustle of fabric, the squeak of a gurney and the muttering of professional voices close by.

Concerned and afraid he wanted to search about himself, but could not move, thankfully he caught a flash of the blue eyes above him. He held on to them, never wanting to let them go, remembering the power they held to sanctify him with the accompanying words. "Keep a hold of it. Breathe for me, slowly. You take a deep breath and then let it out nice and slow. I know you can do it!"

But the eyes were falling behind, leaving Peck terrifyingly alone as the panic threatened to consume him. How could he hold on to it without Smith's strength? How could he do it with out Smith's help?

Bang!

A door flew as the end of the stretcher on which he lay knocked it open, causing a tremor to pass from the bed into him, a tremor that sent more painful spasms all over his body as the sweat surged from every one of his pores.

He blinked; blackness had retreated for the moment as a bright, stark strip of lights now ran out above and before him. The smell of disinfectant and cleanliness, so lacking from his filthy jungle experience of recent times, twitched at his nostrils. Then, another set of doors and the accompanying crash of pain.

Abruptly the movement ceased.

He tried to keep a hold, to understand what was happening but was losing himself in the onrush of physical sensation…..

Strong hands touching, clutching hold of his bicep, moving his arm. A prick to his arm…… Voices louder, urgent. Coldness; around his chest. An icy blast blew across the fiery furnace that was his shuddering right leg. An amateurish maybe even horrified gasp, overlaid by the sound of the bleep of a heart beating weak but fast, too fast and fluttering frantically.

Something heavy on his chest….. breathing so difficult… like before… gasping… the wheezing sound was louder, his spasms lifting his head and shoulders from the bed on which he lay.…. panicking… fighting! Trying to move but his body would not take notice of his order.

Anxious faces staring down at him. Then hands around his face, pulling his head back, the bright ceiling above was obscured and dimming rapidly.

Still his mind was fighting to think, with the blatantly absurd notion that he was in full control of his body, fighting to quantify and classify, asking questions….. Is this dying? Is this giving up?

Answering them; No… it cannot be and it is certainly not what Colonel Smith ordered; "You take a deep breath and then let it out nice and slow. I know you can do it!"

And after that his brain desperately clutching at a plan; he had to fight it, he had to breathe ……

But it was so difficult; his lungs were hyperventilating and the blackness was calling him with mesmerising and irresistible power.

Another jab into his arm and his mind was instantly shrivelling, his thoughts finally falling away out of his grasp. He opened his eyes as wide as he could, desperately searching for the Colonel, desperately searching for the blue that had been his sanctuary and could be so again.

The room was colourless, indistinct and fading fast but he could make out that it was full of dark and grey, masked figures enclosed in theatre greens, all going about their business with clinical efficiency but there was no blue… nothing to cling to, nothing to hold on to… nothing.

Where was the Colonel? Surely he could not have deserted him, not now!

And with that final thought of the Colonel's ultimate abandonment, he was unravelling, horrifically, soundlessly and hopelessly as the drugs overwhelmed his weakened body and he fell into the blackness, silently succumbing to the spell as the medics moved about him with seemingly inexhaustible expertise. Their only aim to save a life, that everyone else, and Colonel Smith particularly, knew was completely worthless.

* * *

Too many ceilings! 

Templeton Peck tried to move but, goddamn it, there were tubes everywhere! Name any of his bodily orifices and it would appear that there was a goddamn tube sticking in or out of it! Not to mention his injured leg suspended, immobile, in a protective frame that stretched above his bed. And along with that came the added attraction of the 'ceremony' practised with great aplomb by the nursing staff, of draining his wound every few hours – an experience that was almost certainly the most excruciating thing Peck had ever felt.

But in contrast at this particular moment, he was feeling supremely unperturbed – it must be the drugs! Gradually, he had to admit he was beginning to rediscover his awareness but that did not mean he was very near to getting back to normal; in fact it was just making him realise how pitiable and feeble his current condition was. The thoughts eddied and flowed in his head on the swirling river of consciousness that was carrying him completely at its mercy along into a sea of desperate despair. And it was a river – fast flowing and torrid; nothing like the pathetic swamp that was the Rao Lao River. The dribble that had caused him to be in this position in the first place, he thought bitterly; it hardly needed a bridge to cross it at all!

Peck, felt he was bobbing along in the uncontrollable swell; sure of nothing, trying desperately to hold on to his sanity but losing it frequently as a further sensation grabbed him and slewed him off in another, completely different direction.

Now what the hell had he been thinking about? Ceilings – yes that was his current rumination. From the deceitful cool blue of the Vietnamese sky tinted by the omnipresent mist and smoke, through the all-encompassing darkness of the chopper roof to the brightlyl lit hospital ward above him now. He remembered them all. And that was unusual for he had never spent much time looking upwards; some men may be gazing at the stars but Templeton Peck had spent most of his young life working hard to find a way to reach them instead. Looking upwards and dreaming of what might be had never struck him as a viable strategy so he had decided long before he would instead, do something to make it happen.

But that had changed over the recent past – just what the exact time span was, he had absolutely no idea – it could have been seconds, it could have been years; he had absolutely no sense of time anymore. Although he had been conscious for most of his suffering his memories of the past few days were hazy and unclear. Swimming in his own river of existence, he floated in and out wildly, but even in his current state he had enough self awareness to perceive that the time he was zoned out seemed to be getting less and less – things were getting better? He hardly dare pose himself the question.

Cutting into his reverie, came a familiar voice. "You hit the goddamn jackpot this time, Lieutenant. Not once but twice, old buddy!"

Shit! Here he was thinking he was getting a grip, not missing obvious things but when the hell did Murdock come in?

Peck groaned or at least he would have done if his vocal chords had been capable of making a noise. He was heavily sedated, but he was beginning to believe that his body had always been in this state of complete unresponsiveness and his mind in a continual fog. The convulsions were weaker but still frequent and he figured that without the painkillers they were thankfully feeding him the agony would be unbearable.

God, he wanted out of this so much!

He had woken up a few times now; he wasn't quite sure how many since counting seemed to be a problem for his mind too. He was pretty sure that this was the second time he had been able to rouse himself enough to actually be aware of Murdock's presence at his bed side. He was dimly aware of the pilot's eyes resting on him right now. Peck wanted to talk and he even managed to open his mouth but no sound came out save a feeble sigh. It was an improvement from yesterday. He wanted to remember when they had taken that goddamn breathing tube out of his throat; he was sure it had been there only moments before but the memory would not come. He tried to lick his lips but even that felt strange, wrong, somehow.

"It's OK, kid," Murdock patted his hand where it lay, motionless, pale, almost dead, on the blanket. "I can tell you are just desperate to know the good news!"

Desperate!

Huh!

The only thing Peck was desperate for was a return to normality. To get back to being himself, to be able to talk and walk, to ask his hand to move and for it actually to respond to the command immediately not half an hour later when by then he really didn't want it to. To be able to move without fear of the accompanying pain, hell, just to be able to move because feeling the pain would prove to him that he was still alive. And for those goddamn spasms that crashed through him to stop completely. And to be left alone to sleep instead of those goddamn nurses coming in to torture him by keeping the wound on his knee open and draining the fluid from it – man, he could feel that!

Shit, it was insufferable to be in this position and not even able to hit on one of the nurses! How the hell did a guy with obvious good looks and charm live up to his reputation? On second thoughts what looks and what reputation? What good was a smile that was a permanent fixture?

"Well," Murdock continued. "You gonna get a medal, kid! We both gonna get one – you for blowing the bridge, me for blowing you!" Somewhere in the depth of Peck's mind the thought – 'Do they give medals for that sort of thing? Somebody should have told me before!' – swirled uncontrollably.

"We gonna be brothers in medal-land!" Murdock enthused.

And then the cynical side of Peck's mind took over once again. A medal – oh just swell, he thought bitterly. And that was going to be of what use exactly to a guy who couldn't lift his head off the pillow? Somehow it made all of this seem just so worthwhile! Peck managed a sceptical snort, granted it was a weak one but a sound none the less; that's progress!

Murdock was beaming at him. "Yeah, that's right. I can tell you are overwhelmed but wait, didn't I say there was more?"

Peck wondered whether the pilot was doing it on purpose, trying to bully him into movement by the sheer condescension in his voice. It had been the same the last time the pilot came, Peck could just about recall and he had overheard the nurses say the pilot had been here every day since they brought him in. Lowrie and Brenner too, his arm in a sling, and last night he could sort of remember BA hobbling into the room on crutches. Although it was nice to know the big guy had survived the A Shau Valley, Peck forced his wandering thoughts back to the pilot and Murdock's plan to force him into action. It was sure working because if he could find the strength Peck would be up from the bed and out of earshot in a moment. If only!

But Murdock's next words chased all of Peck's previous gripes and concerns from his mind. "Lucky Lieutenant – you're going home! First to Japan and then back to the World! Who's a lucky boy then?"

For an instant a vision of a parrot, the feathered kind, lingered in Peck's head, then he pushed it away and gulped, ignoring the pain in his throat, sore from the recently removed breathing tube.

So that was it then. The end! And he didn't even get a chance to have a say on the matter; his military career coming to its inglorious finale with an immediate and abrupt stop – no more social climbing, no future, no hope. A bitter thought crystallised inside his head; Get your body completely broken for Uncle Sam blowing up a stupid bridge in an unknown valley in a shit-hole of a country and what thanks do you get? None whatsoever! You simply get used up, crushed and then spat out when you're no use anymore. Well, thank you!

The resentment, impotent but so strong was gripping him now. Not even a Commanding Officer in sight to pat him on the back and commiserate with him. Tell him he had done so well but…..

…..only Murdock and his puppy dog eyes glinting with admiration and even a little jealousy.

Well swap with me, Captain, Peck thought, by all means take my beat up body and go home with it. Damned, if I want to!

Shit! It was not fair!

Didn't he get a chance to say something? He snorted again, stronger this time as the despair rushed through him. Stupid thought – how in hell could he have a say when he couldn't even talk? When he could not keep his mind focused on one thing long enough to even construct a valid argument!

He felt tears spring into the corner of his eyes – Jesus, the one bodily function that still worked, his goddamn tear ducts – great! Murdock was still prattling on about how lucky he was to be going to Japan, maybe eat some sushi, then going home!

Peck closed his ears as well as his eyes; he could not hear any more, not now. He was hanging on by a mere thread and it was going to take little more to sever it completely. The dark dagger of despair threatened to deliver him a mortal wound and he knew he had no protection against it.

He did not want to go back to the States; there was nothing for him there. Wasn't that why he had signed up and got out in the first place? Why he had forced himself through training, earned his Green Beret, even suffered Colonel Potter's attention and eagerly leapt at the chance to join Colonel Smith's Team.

And now all that work, all that pain, all that ….. Shit! He hesitated unable to find any words in his chaotic and confused mind to quantify his pain.

Well, it was all for nothing.

The bitter but simple truth; he was going home with even less than he had set out with. At least back then he had his wits, his quick tongue and his pretty face, not to mention a dream so strong that it was worth travelling half way around the world to fight in some other man's war. What did he have now? All potential lost; only a body that would not stop trembling, a central nervous system shot to hell, a face seemingly forever locked in a stupid grimace and no voice whatsoever!

"Doctor says that you'll be OK. It's going to take time," Murdock continued enthusiastically. "But give it two, maybe three months and you'll be back to normal – as good as new!"

Hallelujah! Two or three months! That was a goddamn lifetime! And what the hell was he supposed to do in the meantime? A convulsion shuddered through him and he felt suddenly incredibly alone. Good as new, meant what exactly? No job, no prospects, no future and no life!

"So look out, kid. When my tour's over I may just come over to LA and look you up!"

I won't hold my breath, pal, Peck thought as he opened his eyes once more. What the hell would you want to look up a useless, pointless failure like me for?

Murdock smiled down at him and Peck had an impossible but overwhelming urge to smash his face in. "Gee, the A/C here is really cool isn't it? Next time I'm sweltering in the hootch, I know just where to come." He stood up from his chair. "I gotta go but I'll be sure and come back tomorrow before you go. I'll bring the guys too – give you a good send off!"

Jesus! He was going tomorrow? So soon?

As he reached the door, Murdock turned around. "It's gonna be OK, kid. Don't worry – you're gonna be fine. You'll see!" And then he was gone disappearing into the hustle and bustle that was the hospital beyond Peck's door.

The young Lieutenant closed his eyes again as a rush of overwhelming exhaustion hit him. He did not have the energy to focus on anything for very long, could not even summon up the stamina to remain angry at the things the pilot had told him.

He shouldn't blame Murdock, he knew.

Hell, from what he could remember of those hazy last hours in the valley, it had been Murdock's nifty flying, not to mention his resuscitation skills that had got his butt out of there. And of course, he kept coming to the hospital to see him. The memory of their conversation the night before Peck had left on the ill fated mission came back into his mind. Had the pilot been serious? Was he really after something more than friendship? Was Murdock really that way inclined? Peck had never heard anything about him to suspect that might be the case but hell, Murdock was shrewd enough to keep that sort of personal information under wraps – he sure didn't have his sexual partners and preferences broadcast around the whole base, not like some other less secretive and more demonstrative individuals, one of whom was right now lying all used up in this damn hospital bed!

And what did said 'gossip magnet' think about it anyway? Templeton Peck; orphan and con man, lifelong outcast who was only ever loved for the things he could provide, never for the person he was. He had never had a proper loving relationship with a man; hell, only had one real one with a woman – the wondrous and now so out of reach Leslie Bectall. Why would he contemplate any sort of commitment with a crazy pilot like Murdock? He had tried that once with Lesley and got so goddamn burned he believed he probably never would try it again. So if not considering lifelong commitment, how about a quick fling, a little fun where no body got hurt? How did the cynical survivor of so many one night stands that he had lost count many eons ago feel about that?

Peck's body convulsed, out of control again, as an answer.

Didn't matter anyway; Peck's depression fought back inside his head. Any relationship, be it a friendship or otherwise, was not going to happen now. Not with Murdock, not with any of the Team in fact. It was simply 'thank you and good night'. Peck felt a strange rush of loss, as a fleeting sense of the potential power and value of such companionship hit him; to be a part of a team, to really belong. He was not thinking of physical attachment or sexual fulfilment but something far more sublime and precious. He had tasted it fleetingly in school sports teams and earlier army experience but the thought now was truly inspirational and so out of reach. It scared him even now, so he stopped it, dead in its tracks.

It was never going to be. He managed to move his right hand enough to clutch the blanket in frustration. God, he was an idiot! So much wasted, so much undone and now he was never going to get the chance.

It stank, big time, all of it; the whole damn shooting match!

And where the hell was the Colonel in all this? Peck remembered his words; they had been reverberating around his head – the only constant through his feverishly rambling thoughts - soft but carrying over the incessant beat of the helicopter's engine. What was it he said? 'I want you on my Team, kid. I want you as my Executive Officer.' And more, 'I promise you a place on my Team for however long you like. If you want it, you got it. You're one of us, kid! You're mine!'

Well, where was the goddamn Colonel now? Now his 'esteemed' Executive Officer was all used up and damaged but out of danger; simply invalid, he seemed to have lost interest. Maybe Smith's only thought had been for him to survive the flight so he didn't die on the Colonel's watch – too much goddamn paperwork – so much less hassle if it happened in the hospital where the doctors and nurses could sort out the protocol and the body bags were plentiful. And hadn't Smith lost enough members of his Team in that goddamn valley already? It couldn't be good for his reputation.

Peck licked his lips; tried to stop his festering mind dwelling on such monstrous thoughts. The Colonel had got him here alive – he was possibly the only man on the planet who could have achieved it. So why was Peck thinking such ridiculous drivel now?

Peck sniffed back his tears of frustration. Because Smith wasn't here, was he? He hadn't even been to see him, not once. Smith was as bad as all the rest of the big brass – he had hung him out to dry, when as his Commanding Officer he should be fighting for him. Why in hell should Peck be surprised by that? It was the story of his life, experienced so many times it was nothing more than vaguely upsetting now.

Who was he trying to kid? Sour jealousy rocked through the young Lieutenant then – he bet Baracus and Brenner, although both injured, weren't going home. No, a couple of weeks down in Cam Ranh Bay to convalesce and then they would be ready to get back to it, ready to take their places back on the Team. Even the Colonel was injured but he would not be going home, he still had his place in the army, still had his reputation and a future.

But not Peck.

All the Colonel had said was a lie, it had all been said simply to mislead his junior officer in his time of greatest need. Shit! Peck thought – the ultimate embarrassment – the con man conned! Why had he believed that Smith cared about him? Why had he allowed himself to suppose that anybody, and particularly a successful career soldier like Smith, would care about him, a lying, stealing, cheat?

Memories of the brutal, brittle dressing down that Smith had delivered in the glade came back, so much more vivid, so much stronger than the hazy but positive dream-like experience in the chopper. That was the real Colonel surely? His non-appearance here at Peck's bedside proved it beyond doubt.

Shit! Why had anybody bothered to save him? What was the point in any of it?

The door to his room banged open, pulling him unceremoniously from his reverie, and for a moment, Peck still allowed himself to hope that he had been wrong, that the Colonel was here at last. But his optimism was short lived as in walked, or rather rolled with her excessive bulk, Major Polly Parrott and another nurse.

Immediately taking in the state of the patient she took hold of his hand still clutching at the blanket with anguish and prised it away. "Very good, Lieutenant," she said.

Christ, Murdock wasn't even close to being a resident of the land of condescension when compared to this woman; she was surely its Queen! Do they teach it in nurse training, Peck wondered as she continued on in matronly overdrive. "I see your motor skills are returning; your grip is coming along," she said through gritted teeth. "Now, let's have a look at your leg."

Peck took in a deep breath and bit back the groans of pain that rushed to his lips when anybody as much as touched his leg. Peck wasn't sure about many things but, God, even through his drugged haze; he knew it hurt like hell!

The Major seemed to take a great amount of pleasure in her work. Peck convulsed and squirmed weakly in the bed as Major Parrott brusquely and with the air of the truly dominant, went about her task. She drained off the foul smelling poisonous fluid that had pooled in his wound, as she continued to talk at him in a thoroughly demeaning manner.

The tears formed in his eyes as the pain wracked through every muscle in his body and he gulped in air uselessly.

After it was over, Peck lay physically and mentally exhausted, a cold sweat sheening his skin, unable to remember what he had been contemplating before the formidable Major entered the room but knowing it had been bad. She stood over him, a massive mountain of a woman, filling out every inch of her uniform in tyres of spare flesh.

"That's better!" she beamed. "Never thought the day I caught you sniffing around Nurse Ryan that you would turn out to be such a hero. A Bronze Star Medal, eh – you're a credit to us all, soldier!" She turned away to check the drugs spewing into his system through the IV. "We find courage in the strangest places!" she mused. "And you have certainly earned your ticket home, son." And then she was gone, the door slamming behind her.

Peck took a deep breath. He was too drained to think any more and certainly too tired to care. He had to sleep and the drugs were helpfully closing him down. Nobody was going to listen to a man who could not speak even if he did have something valuable to say. With a morose sense of the inevitable, Peck bitterly gave up the fight to stay awake and with it unknowingly the faith that his Colonel would come, letting go of his consciousness he felt his body relax completely.

TBC


	10. Chapter 10

**THE COLONEL'S BOY**

**Part 10**

"_O! I have lost my reputation! I have lost the immortal part of myself, and what remains is bestial."_

_Othello, 2. 2_

_William Shakespeare_

It was another close sticky Vietnamese night but inside the hospital building the A/C system kept the wards cool and bearable. The patients were as comfortable as their wounds allowed but that did not mean that sleep came easy.

Peck's bed was bathed in a silver light from the full moon which hung alone and regardless in the dark satin sky outside. Shining through the large window it leeched out all of the colour in the room and brought a strange ethereal quality to the mundane hospital ward.

Peck noted it in passing as he tried to open his eyes but the gossamer thin quality of the light was not unusual, it had appeared like this when he had awoken on a number of occasions over the last few nights. What was more concerning to him was the fact that the drugs he was on seemed to have had the effect of making his eyelids weigh as much as a two and a half ton truck. Man, it was hard work trying to lift them!

He struggled for awhile until they were finally open wide enough to send back pictures to his brain. Images, though hazy and indistinct, that revealed to him that something was different this time in the sterile room that had become his world. Something was not the same as it had been every other time he had gone through this waking experience.

Peck blinked, tried to turn his head but the movement was beyond him. He looked upwards into the shadowy depths of the ceiling above – a recent regular past-time; the bright lights had long since been dimmed for the night, he could make out nothing up there that was not as it had been every other night.

His eyes giving no further clues, he tried to focus on his other senses. It was quiet save for the regular reassuring soft bleep of his heart through the monitor he was still attached to. A distant noise did drift towards him, a cry or maybe even a scream. It was difficult to tell but again it was not uncommon in this hospital with all the damaged and dying souls it held, to hear the night punctuated by the scream of one soldier or another. A scream borne of pain or panic, Peck had heard them all at a distance as he lay alone and separate in his own cocooned room.

His mind was still fluid and liable to deviate wildly from one thought to another inexplicably. He got to thinking then this was about the first time in his whole life, except for a couple of nights courtesy of Colonel Potter, that he had slept on his own. Damn; a big clean bed and no one to share it with. How he wished he could take advantage of the opportunity!

He gulped, forcing his mind to refocus. He came fast to the conclusion that he was hearing no sound that was different or new, nothing that could have piqued his survival instinct.

Amazing thing that even through the doping of the drugs, the pain and his disorientation his survival instinct had woken from deep within and alarm bells were jangling hysterically. It was prickling the hairs on the back of his neck, telling him he had to act. Pity the instinct wasn't clever enough to understand that he was going nowhere fast. It would be better if it would just leave him alone. Let him sleep through the danger – better for him to know nothing of what was happening rather than be aware but unable to actually do anything about it.

Jesus! What the hell was wrong with him? Festering here; was he a corpse already? Rotting away to nothing….

Get a grip Peck!

There was definitely something, some reason he had woken, something he had detected; he just had to keep his cool to work out what it was.

He sniffed weakly… caught something, vague and fleeting and yet different! Different from the smell of disinfectant and bandage, different from the smell of bed-pans and pure undiluted fear that normally hung on the air. Different from the scent of his own desperation, made stronger by his ever increasing despair especially since Murdock told him he was being shipped home.

He sniffed again, trying to place it, trying to understand the difference. Damn, his fevered brain; why in hell couldn't it think properly? Why couldn't it do what it used to do, what it was supposed to do? After all it wasn't that hard surely.

He sensed the smell again, stronger and richer. He opened his eyes and watched mesmerised and amazed as a small cloud of white smoke drifted nonchalantly above him and then meandered off towards the window.

He jerked then – a thoroughly conscious motion so different and yet appearing to be so similar to his spasming. It hurt but it brought his head around enough for him to spy the figure at the side of his bed; only a shadow but a shadow from which the smoke was emanating. Only a shadow but within its black, mysterious depths Peck caught hold of something truly precious – a flash of blue; the blue that had saved him in the past.

A wave of overwhelming joy washed through him. God, he wanted to shout, to cheer, to dance but all he could do was lay motionless and stare as Colonel Smith sat forwards into the moonlight, blue flashing through silver grey.

"Hiyah, kid!" the Colonel said around his cigar. "You miss me?"

Missed you? Hell no! Peck thought but the goddamn quickening of the bleep of the heart monitor beside him, betrayed the real excitement that was coursing through his veins at the appearance of the Colonel.

Colonel Smith smiled knowingly and took another draw on his cigar. "I bet you've been laying there, cursing me for leaving you like this. For not living up to the promise I made you, for telling you I wanted you and then leaving you to be shipped home. I bet you feel stupid cos you think I conned you."

Blue eyes skewered into Peck and he would have cowered nervously away from the challenge they held if he could have moved. How in hell could the Colonel read his thoughts so precisely, know what he was thinking?

Smith continued. "Well I make no apologies for not being able to come before, kid. You're not the only one whose been suffering – I had to get the Charlie bullet out of my belly, so I haven't been in the most sociable of moods and not walking so well lately. But I wasn't gonna let them ship you out before I got the chance to talk to you." He grinned. "Reckon lockjaw is an appropriate affliction for you, Lieutenant. It's about the only thing I know that could stop you from relying on your clever mouth and its smart ass comments, and make you actually listen to what I'm saying. I want you to listen to what I got to say and I want you to think about it when I'm gone."

Peck felt a warmth rush to his cheeks – Christ was he going to get another bollocking? Another sermon on how he was morally bereft and not fit enough to share the same planet as Smith and his boys.

Smith flicked some ash from his cigar down on to the previously immaculately clean floor. "Firstly I want to repeat what I said to you in the chopper cos I'm not sure how much of it you understood or even remember. But it's important that you know that I am so proud of what you did out there in the jungle. I told you I judge a man, not by how he acts in the easy times, but how he endures through the bad ones. You were sorely tested out there and you stepped right on up to the plate and damn well proved you were able to cope with the shit that was thrown at you. I could not have expected more of you and I'm damn proud of what you achieved."

Peck lay back and closed his eyes – they were itching like hell but he had no means to scratch them, so he tried to ignore them.

"In contrast, and I don't like to admit it but I was hurting in that glade, I was not at my best and I shouldn't have reacted at you like I did. You had every right to question my decision since you proved later you were more than capable of blowing that bridge. I should have listened to you, I should have accepted your opinion. Hell, I spent long enough trying to get through to you that I wanted you as my Executive Officer because I valued your judgement. I'm sorry for what I said, after telling you to question me, I let you get under my skin, and that was unforgivable. Please accept my apologies, kid. I was out of order and I accept that."

Shit; had the A/C fucked up? It was suddenly incredibly hot and uncomfortable for Peck. He opened his eyes with a flash of panic; the monitor bleep increasing speed as a fearful cramp clutched at his chest. The spasm was violent but short lived. God; he had to learn to control this! And then, as quickly as it had come it was gone and his body lay motionless and useless again.

Smith waited sensing the pain and panic of the other man. Only after the convulsion had past, did he begin again, his tone soft but supportive. "BA told me about me calling out for Michael while I hallucinated, that that was how you knew about Michael and my conspiracy theory was bullshit, the product of a fevered mind. Michael is a sore point with me obviously but I owe you an explanation."

God, no! Peck's mind screamed. He did not want any sordid details, any pitiful confessions of illicit passion from the Colonel and his long ago lover. But he was absolutely powerless to protest.

"Michael was a kid I knew – the goddamn cutest kid I ever saw – you'd give him a run for his money but I reckon he'd come in the winner cos he had what you lack. I look into your eyes, Lieutenant, and I see the hunger there, the ambition, the sense of injustice and the need to find a place to belong; the very essence of what pushes you on. When I looked into Michael's baby blues, I just saw simple innocence at its most beautiful. There was no need to question, no need to ask, no fight, no worry, just a simple serene acceptance; when we first met he had a purity rarely seen in a man."

"We were in Korean together in '53. I was a First Looey; three years out of West Point, I had done my time but was still green enough not to understand the underbelly of this army – too naive to see what made our powerful men tick. Michael was newly out of Officer Training School, wet as they come. He was from, the south – Virginia way, born of old money, fifth kid and first, much prayed for son, he had never wanted for anything in his life. Family had military blood flowing through their veins – trace their roots back to the Confederacy at Bull Run. Somehow managed to keep their fortune after the war but it was the start of a long, slow decline."

"The family wasn't what it once had been; it was descending into bankruptcy and ruin. Michael's grandfather threw himself off a bridge on the night of 25 October 1929, when he lost all of their money in the early days of the Wall Street crash. His father inherited a crumbling colonial estate and far too many debts. Nevertheless his son was expected to take up his rightful place in the army. It was the done thing."

"Poor Michael didn't have a violent bone in his body; soft and innocent, mother's boy in every sense of the word. He had some of it knocked out of him in boot camp and more in OTS but he had mainly got through training on his glorious family history. Michael wasn't made for the army – he was a teddy bear, needed to be protected."

"When he was assigned to my Team he was already struggling, drowning, trying to survive in a world he did not understand, trying to be something he was never gonna be. He talked a lot about his father, the honour of his family – how he had to make a go of the army. It was expected and he could not disappoint." The Colonel shook his head sadly. "A war is no place to grow up and find that the world isn't the forgiving place your mother brought you up to believe it was."

"First action he saw, he froze, petrified to the spot, then dug himself into a foxhole where he lay shivering and shitting himself until I pulled him out of there. He puked his guts up all the way home. I never forgot the look of haunting desperation in those eyes, innocence lost forever with the horrifying realisation that he didn't have what it took to survive. That no matter how hard he tried he was never gonna be a soldier."

"I talked to him for a long time after that, tried to reassure him, bring him back but he was never meant for such horror – Michael deserved only nice things. And he was desperate for a way out, anything so he didn't have to face his fear."

"By complete coincidence our commanding officer was one Colonel Thomas Gallagher, had an ancestor who fought for the Union at Gettysburg, and seemed to have a hatred of anything to do with the south imprinted into his genes. He was also a bully, a control freak, a bigot and an invidious sexual deviant who preyed on the most vulnerable soldiers in his command. He made Colonel Potter look like a pussy cat. I wouldn't have believed it could happen in this man's army unless I had seen it with my own eyes, never would have believed anyone could have got away with it. Gallagher ran a brothel of boys for himself and other high ranking officers who shared his scumbag appetites. Kept his boys doped up and ready on all sorts of shit but he had one undeniable selling point – his promise that he would keep them away from the frontline. He offered Michael a way out, and desperate as he was the kid leapt at it – only problem was that what he was touting was far worse than what Michael was running from. On the battlefield you take your luck and you got comrades to protect your back – you got a chance. Michael had no chance; he was dead the moment he said yes to Gallagher."

Smith stopped, took in a deep breath and wiped his hand across his eyes, affected by the memory, even now. Peck gulped, wanting to talk, wanting to sympathise, unable to release anything but the barest of groans in empathy.

"Gallagher sucked him dry, stole his innocence, his passion and his confidence. He took great delight in destroying the southern boy from a good family, he fought the Civil War all over again on Michael's defenceless body, turned him into the play thing he wanted him to be – a true Colonel's boy. Michael was so stoned he didn't know what day it was, where he was or even who he was. He pumped anything into his veins to stop the pain, to take away his memories in a desperate attempt to release his spirit at the cost of destroying his body. And I let it happen. I saw what was going on and I did nothing, watched him systematically strip a vulnerable young man of everything he had, and I let it happen!"

The heart monitor seemed to suddenly bleep annoyingly loud in the still room as Colonel Smith gulped.

"We're all lost boys looking for some comfort in the dark, unforgiving world. Michael was no more made for that sort of thing than you or me – he just grasped at the chance for an escape. He should have been a teacher or a doctor or maybe even made a go of his family's failing businesses. But men pushed to the extreme in exceptional circumstances react in different ways; we all do what we think we must to survive. Although he had your looks Michael lacked your self confidence, your belief, he was made of more fragile stuff like Murdock."

Smith hesitated then, as if arguing with himself as to whether he should follow this thought further. Peck's eyes flashed upwards at mention of the pilot's name as the Colonel carried on. "Murdock, who wants to be friends with every FNG but he knows as well as I, he doesn't need a lover, he needs a friend, a brother someone to stroke his invisible dog and support him. Someone to hold him at night when the fear really bites and his grip on sanity loosens. Of all my boys I fear for Murdock the most. This war, like any other, is hardest on the sensitive ones." Smith had lifted his hands to his face and hung his head, so he now sat in the most disheartening of poses.

Peck gulped, wondering just how he was supposed to get out of this one; unable to move, unable to talk but sensing the weight of the burden this brave man had carried for so long and the further weights that his current command pressed on to him; knowing that he had to help relieve him of the pain. He licked his lips, swallowed and then tried to set his mouth into the correct position.

"Colonel…" he murmured weakly and then again, a little clearer. "Colonel."

Smith lifted his head, bright, watery eyes coming to rest on the younger man. "I'm sorry," Peck slurred, unable to shape his mouth but hoping that his eyes expressed what he was trying to say.

The Colonel nodded slightly and let out a sigh from the depth of his soul. "I never told anyone this story before. I didn't know all of it at the time, but I knew enough and I pieced the rest together afterwards. Then I carried it deep inside and let it fester on the darkest of nights, when the despair really kicked in; I felt it like a dagger in my chest; the harsh pain of guilt and betrayal. I maybe couldn't have saved Michael but I damn well should have tried – I owed him that, for what we could have had, the simple friendship, if Gallagher hadn't come along. I wanted you to know, so you would understand why I wanted to help you. You, when I saw you with Colonel Potter were so like Michael in so many ways and yet, so unlike him."

The eyes suddenly focused. "I saw a chance to right the wrong I did to Michael so long ago; to make a kind of amends. He died in my arms – desperate and alone, his body destroyed by the damn drugs Gallagher had fed him with to improve his performance when he lost his heart. I will never forget his eyes at that moment when his life was finally snuffed out. He went home in a body bag, it even seemed as if he died a soldier. I want to see his parents when I was on leave in the States. His mother was so proud when I explained about our friendship, what a guy he had been. Gallagher was very thorough – a purple heart even a bronze star for services rendered." Smith gulped. "I couldn't look his father in the eye – he knew or at least suspected that the truth was so very different from the story the army told them."

He took a long draw on his cigar, the end glowing red in the silver moonlight, his eyes moist, as he gathered his thoughts, searched for his composure.

When the Colonel lifted his eyes, they had lost the guilty edge and burned brightly with the same intensity Peck remembered from the mission – what was it BA had called it; the 'jazz'. It was as if the Colonel had been liberated from a deep pain. Peck's mind then flashed back through time and he remembered the irresistible relief he had felt as a teenager when he had gone to confession. He remembered he had confessed to a little pick pocketing, maybe coveting a few girls, lying, swearing – the normal stuff a kid of his age would get involved in and the freedom he felt afterwards had been truly cathartic. He had never carried a burden for longer than a couple of days, to have carried the guilt for fifteen years like the Colonel had done and such a weight! He found himself hoping Smith was feeling the same sort of release now.

Smith's eyes sought out and connected with Peck's, as he began. "But you got to know, kid, I saw so much more potential in you than Michael ever had. You're a born fighter, you never got anything easy but that hasn't stopped you from trying for what you want. You know I did a little checking on you before I met you in the OC. Do you have any idea what people told me about you?"

Oh, he had a good idea, all right, but Peck concentrated hard and managed to minutely move his head in a shaking motion as the Colonel continued. "They told me you were high maintenance, superficial, that you lacked control; that you didn't go with anyone you couldn't get something out of and that you weren't worth the risk. And I got to thinking that was what you wanted us all to believe, it was all part of the face you show the world, to hide the hurt you carry deep inside. Hurt; that through your whole life no body ever dared take a risk on you, and so you got the feeling that you weren't special. Still you didn't give up, you decided to do it alone. You didn't curl up and die like Michael, you are made of sterner stuff; sure you were used and abused but you overcame that, you endured, thereby disproving the very assumption that everybody had leapt too in the first place – you're a special guy, Templeton. I bet few people have told you that in your life, but it's true. You have a gift."

Peck shook his head more violently this time as Smith continued on regardless. "You know I been around awhile. I've seen some true artists at work, used the odd scam myself and I've found the best con man can look into the minds of people and see what makes them tick, see the angle to pursue for greatest benefit. You can do that with ease, you have such charm and presence that you can make even your mark feel happy about being conned! But you do more than that; you can see the positive in even the worst of situations and you ruthlessly pursue it so you can use it and more often than not the outcome is a good one. Ray told me about Hernandez and the crucifix – you didn't need to do that, no body would have known the difference, but you did it."

Again the pause. "I meant every word I said in that chopper; I want you on my Team, kid. I want you as my Executive Officer. You are special."

Peck swallowed hard and ignored the pain it brought to his sore throat.

"I talked to the doctor, Captain Fallone," the Colonel continued. "He tells me that you are gonna make a complete recovery – it's not gonna be easy and it'll take time but you have the single-mindedness to make it happen. Well, then there is nothing to stop ……"

"Colonel Smith!" The door banged open and into the room marched Major Polly Parrott. Instantly the confined space halved in size as her girth seemed to expand to fit the room. "What on earth are you doing here, in the middle of the night?" She stood arms on her hips like too many school teachers in the memories from Peck's past. He shivered with a-not-altogether involuntary shudder.

Smith smiled brightly. "It's simple, Sister," he began, taking the cigar from his mouth and waving it at her in a friendly but slightly hurt manner. "You said I couldn't smoke on my ward!"

Her bulk began to wobble like some massive jello moulded on a plate. "This patient!" she began, working hard on keeping her tone cool but failing, and pointing towards Peck, still laying motionless on the bed. "Has only recently been taken off a respirator! Do you have any idea the damage you are doing to his lungs? He could relapse at any minute!" Her mouth curled into a withering frown as she reached across, took the cigar from Smith's hand, dropped it and ground it unceremoniously into the not-so-clean floor with her regulation sensible nurse shoes.

Smith raised his eyebrows and stood up, wobbling a little before he took a deep breath, steadying himself by leaning on the IV stand that Peck noticed for the first time, realised that the Colonel must have wheeled it in earlier and it now rested beside him, the tube reaching from it straight into Smith's arm. "No, I don't think that's likely!" His eyes were beaming in amusement at the nurse's distress. "My Lieutenant and I just needed to get a few things straight. I think we're done now." He looked back at Peck. "Aren't we, kid?"

Peck nodded barely, licking his lips as Smith hesitated.

As if he had never spoken the Major continued, "Colonel Smith, I must insist!" She moved to clasp hold of his arm. "It's the middle of the night and you are disturbing my other patients! You must go back to bed."

Smith nodded and allowed her to manoeuvre him to the door with one massive unfeminine hand as she reached for the IV stand with the other. Once there he hesitated and turned back. "When they had me sedated I was having some wild dreams, you probably know the type, kid. Anyway last night I had a different sort of dream; one as clear as day – we were a team. The goddamn best ever and you were my XO, Lieutenant."

Peck gulped, feeling the tears begin to prick at the edge of his eyes. He held on to the blue in blue stare that the Colonel was sending him and felt a strange rush of excitement in the very pit of his stomach as Smith continued. "I'm going to be doing my damndest to see it doesn't stay as just a dream but that it becomes a reality and I hope you are going to do the same, too, Templeton!"

"Colonel!" Parrott hissed impatiently.

The eye contact between the two men was suddenly all that mattered to them both. It was as if everything else faded away into insignificance. And then Smith blinked and the hot magic was gone, leaving only the lingering recollection of it in Peck's mind along with the desperate need biting deep inside of him to feel it again and soon.

The Colonel turned to Major Parrott, opening his arms wide. "Take me, Major, I'm all yours!"

And with a quick wink over his shoulder, Colonel Smith was gone, disappearing behind the bulk of the Major and through the door.

Peck closed his eyes, let out a ragged breath and laid his head back onto the soft pillow. Thoughts were screaming crazily around his head – he sure had a lot to think about and plans to make, but not yet. Now for the first time in a long while, maybe forever, he could sleep safe and secure that he had the pledge of a place in the world, the promise of a better fate with all of his dreams fulfilled. How he found the strength and the ability to claim it for his own he knew he would have to work on later but for now the simple assurance from Colonel Hannibal Smith was enough.

* * *

The following day, Captain HM Murdock and his comrades watched bleakly as their Lieutenant's broken body was carefully wheeled from the hospital at Da Nang out on to the air strip to board the plane to begin its long journey back to the world.

Before he was gone, Murdock stepped forward and took hold of the pale hand that had rested on the blanket. Glazed blue eyes opened and flashed wildly up at him.

"Easy, kid," Murdock soothed. "I just wanted to say good bye and good luck. We're going to miss you."

Peck nodded weakly but then his eyes lost focus and rolled up into his head.

The pilot let go of the feeble hand as the gurney moved away. "Shit," he whispered sadly as Ray moved to lay a supporting hand on his shoulder. "Why do I feel like somebody special is flying away from us? I wanted him to thank me – I did save his life, you know!"

Brenner shrugged sadly. "I'm sure he would if he could but he's doped to the eyeballs."

Murdock looked doubtful. "I don't know, he's an arrogant little…."

"Hey, Lowrie!" Brenner cut across the pilot. "Isn't that a Hercules C-130 he's flying out in? What's the info on that?"

Lowrie frowned. "Don't know, don't care!" he muttered and looked away, his shoulders slumping dejectedly.

"This is what happens in a war, boys," Brenner said compassionately, trying to inject some cheerfulness to the sad and rapidly increasingly depressing situation. "We all know, he's better off going home."

Murdock nodded but pouted like a spoilt child. "We could have had so much fun, Ray. We didn't see the best of him and now we never will."

There was a growl from behind them and they both turned to see BA scowling at them. "I seen the best of him out there," he nodded towards the boonies. "Ain't seen many men with the courage to do what he did. Man got balls." His face broke into a broad smile. "Man gave me panty hose!"

Murdock smiled too but it was a deeply melancholy expression. "He sure did, BA! And you can't get braver than that!"

The other three men turned away then and moved back towards the hospital where their Colonel waited, watching from his own sickbed but Murdock remained standing alone on the edge of the air strip. He watched as the final checks were made, the doors shut and the engines fired up. He watched as the hulking Hercules taxi-ed along the runway and then lifted miraculously, considering its bulk, into the air.

"What a beautiful sky," Murdock murmured as he shielded his eyes against the bright sunshine and watched the bird climb. "You and me muchacho; we could have been great friends, we could have been what we both need. I knew that and I acted like an idiot and now we've lost each other." He bit his lip and hesitated before continuing. "The sky's my friend; she'll look after you now, take you home safe. So long, buddy………."

TBC


	11. Chapter 11

**THE COLONEL'S BOY**

**Part 11**

"_O! I have lost my reputation! I have lost the immortal part of myself, and what remains is bestial."_

_Othello, 2. 2_

_William Shakespeare_

"Is this gonna take much longer?" Corporal Cortez pouted. His Hispanic features contorted with impatience as he distractedly hacked at a piece of bamboo with his combat knife, ignoring the shavings that gathered in a little pile at his feet.

"Colonel said for us to wait here, sucker!" BA Baracus spat, matching and doubling the other man's attitude. "So we wait until he says we done!"

"What is that you're carving, Cortez, anyway?" Murdock asked.

Cortez threw him a toothy grin. "Damned if I know," he confessed. "But I'm fast running out of wood; the Colonel better hurry up!"

"Colonel'll come when he's ready, soldier!" Baracus retorted.

Corporal Andy Sharp wiped the sweat from his brow and lit himself a cigarette. Shit, it was hot, now the rainy season was finished and the goddamn flies were so annoying. He looked up into the murky sky and squinted at the hazy South Asian sun beating down on them. He threw a jealous glance to the area behind the supplies hut, the only part of the compound currently in the shade and it had been snaffled by BA, Brenner, and Captain Murdock, using the privilege of their superior ranks. They were lounging lazily in apparent comfort while leaving the rest of the Team to swelter somewhat resentfully in the blazing sunshine.

'Sharpy' had been part of the Team for almost three months now and considered himself to have a permanent place. He looked around at the other 'newcomers', all of them Green Berets and accomplished soldiers in their own right but nevertheless all forced to prove themselves again to win a place as part of Colonel Smith's elite. They were an unusual lot these guys, all characters in their own rights, but Sharp was kind of proud to be associated with them. He was happy to learn from their various experiences and to share his own.

For the last three months they had been slogging through the mud and the heat working hard on becoming a cohesive unit, a Team, and he believed it was all coming together – Colonel Smith was one hell of a leader and the guys were anxious to please him.

Over the time, however, one thing had become blatantly apparent; the one component that they lacked was a good Executive Officer. Since Sharp had been on the Team, Smith had taken on and just as quickly gotten rid of five First Lieutenants. None of them were very bad but equally none of them had what Colonel Smith, the cunning old soldier that he was, was looking for.

Naturally curious, Sharp had tried to find out what had happened to the Team before he joined. The remaining members always turned tight lipped when the subject was broached, but he had heard the gossip around the camp; they had been in one hell of a fire fight that had decimated their number – leaving only the four members he knew to stay on in Nam and even they had been injured. The Team had had to be rebuilt once they were fit and able to continue the fight. Sharp had assumed that the incumbent XO must have bought the farm in that action and Smith and the rest of the team had been searching for a replacement ever since.

And now they were going for another one!

Sharp took a long draw on his cigarette and waited, building a small bile of red dust into a heap between his boots and then squashing into nothing again – wasn't anything else to do but wait, as Sergeant Baracus had said, the Colonel had decreed they should wait until he came back with the new Lieutenant and so wait they would. Cortez, although he was mouthy, would not dare to go against a direct order; he was just showing his impatience, Latin temperament, Smith called it.

Sharp turned back to the more senior members of the Team. "What do you think he'll be like?" he asked.

Brenner shrugged. "Like all the others; irrelevant."

"Waste of time!" BA put in cynically.

"I don't know guys," Murdock said, "I read my tea leaves this morning and they were kind of optimistic."

"What did they say?" Sharp asked, realising it was a set up but playing along.

Murdock smiled. "Sharpy, Sharpy!" he said shaking his head slowly. "I'm surprised at you, tea leaves can't talk!"

"Fool!" BA muttered.

Sharp smiled. "The old ones are the best, eh, Murdock?"

At that moment the door to the General's office opened and the well-known greying head of Colonel Smith appeared. Beside him a slightly smaller figure, smartly turned out in an immaculate First Lieutenant's uniform, a significant amount of ribbons proudly on his chest, and his beret pulled down roguishly low on his head so his face was slightly obscured.

Behind him, Sharp heard Brenner draw in a harsh intake of breath and Murdock muttered, "It can't be!"

Both BA and Lowrie had leapt up into the sunshine, eyes wide with disbelief and no little excitement.

"What the…?" Cortez muttered, picking up the surprise of the other Team members as they surged forwards. His curious gaze was mirrored on the faces by all the other relatively new boys. They waited as the Colonel and the new man made their way towards them, smiling broadly. There was an expectant silence hanging on the air; a burst of potential that promised so many good things; something remarkable was happening.

The centre of this incredibly potent sensation, the new Lieutenant, raised his head and pushed back his beret to reveal blond hair, a little longer than regulation length, and almost angelically handsome features blazing with the most brilliant of smiles. "Hi, guys!" he said, looking down again almost shyly.

Murdock was first to move, almost bowling over the others he leapt at the Lieutenant and smothered him in a tight embrace. "You came back!" he yelled.

The Lieutenant's smile widened, his blue eyes came up twinkling mischievously. "Didn't I say I would?"

"I don't recall that!" Murdock shrugged, feigning a pout. "Besides, you say a lot of things, but that don't mean you mean any of them! Bet, you don't even remember that you owe me, kid!"

"I remember," the Lieutenant chuckled. "And from what I recall you may not be the best kisser in the world, Murdock, but you sure are effective!"

Murdock puckered up. "Wanna try again?" he asked batting his eyelids suggestively.

Sharp noted a flash of emotion sparkle across the newcomer's face. Surely, if he was such a good friend he would know how crazy Murdock was – that the pilot's mouth said things his brain was unaware of - but there was a definite nervous lick of the lips and flash of uncertainty in the new Lieutenant's eyes, as if he was taking the pilot seriously. It was, however, so quickly quenched that the lower ranked soldier dismissed it almost instantly.

Brenner was shaking the Lieutenant's hand now. "I lost your helmet, Ray," the Lieutenant said. "I'm sorry."

The older soldier laughed. "Better that than your head, kid!"

"Hey, Lowrie," the newcomer turned to the recently promoted Sergeant. "You read any good munitions manuals lately? I need to know the range and trajectory of an M79. How big a bunker does it make?"

Lowrie's eyebrows rose skyward excitedly. "An M79? A single-barrelled, break-action grenade launcher, which fires 40mm projectiles, nicknamed the blooper, thumper or thumpgun?"

"Enough already!" Smith's authoritative voice cut through the light, jovial atmosphere. "And don't you wind him any further, Lieutenant. Makes a change to hear him though – he's hardly said a word since you left!"

BA's normal scowl had thawed into a warm smile. "You OK, man?" he asked as he stood before the new arrival.

The Lieutenant nodded. "I am now," he responded his eyes, for once shining with honesty. "Thanks for blowing the bridge, BA. There was a time back there when I thought you wouldn't come through for me."

"You can count on me, always," Baracus beamed and only then landed a playful punch on the Lieutenant's shoulder. "It's good to have you back, li' brother!"

"Boys!" Colonel Smith raised his voice so it carried to include all of his Team; he placed his arm around the newcomer. "May I present our new, or should I say our old, Executive Officer, Lieutenant Templeton Peck." He stood back proudly, his eyes burning fiercely fuelled by the jazz.

"You know this guy?" Sharp asked doubtfully.

"Oh sure we do! But I don't get it," Murdock said, turning back to the new Lieutenant. "I thought you got a medical discharge."

Peck's face glowed knowingly. "That's not what my records say," he said nonchalantly.

"Yeah, well your records are not the most accurate are they? I recall they said that you had had all your shots last time!" Murdock snapped back.

"And have you had your shots this time, Lieutenant?" Smith asked his eyes twinkling although his voice was uncompromising.

"I had a full medical, Stateside, Sir!" Peck replied elusively.

"And?" Smith pushed, refusing to be distracted by the Lieutenant's customary disinclination to answer the question fully.

Peck looked down, shuffling his feet and smirking. "Nurse was kind of pretty, Sophie she was called, blonde and curvy, lovely blue eyes…… we…."

"Lieutenant!" Smith barked. "I'm not allowing you in a combat zone without…"

Peck's smile was awesomely confident. Sharp realised in the time he had been on the Team he had never seen anybody survive baiting the Colonel like this but Smith seemed totally comfortable with playing along with it. Peck raised his hands in a placating motion. "I'm joking," he beamed. "Let's just say; she gave me my injection before I gave her mine!"

Brenner shook his head, while the others chuckled lecherously, but Murdock remained uncharacteristically serious, his eyes scanning Peck's as if searching for enlightenment. "No after effects?"

The perceptive Sharp thought he detected once more something deeper in the look the blond shot the pilot, Peck's smile faltered somewhat, but it brightened again soon enough into the annoyingly arrogant grin as the Lieutenant regained his composure and covered the lapse by replying smugly. "After Sophie?" Peck rolled his eyes suggestively. "You know I don't do afters, HM."

"Not Sophie, you idiot! The tetanus! You were pretty bad when they shipped you out; well out of it. Maybe I should get Major Parrott to look you over – just in case."

Colonel Smith let out a sharp breath as the name brought him back his own chilling memories of the formidable nurse and Peck snorted. "No after effects – in fact I'm even better than I was before. And don't even joke about the Major – I survived her bed baths didn't I? Reckon I should get a medal just for that!"

Murdock could control his excitement no longer and his face twisted into his trademark gentle mocking grin. "Better than before; I find that very hard to believe!" his voice was warm and his eyes bright with camaraderie. "And you loved that female attention!"

Peck opened his mouth as if to argue but stopped as his name echoed across the square.

"Lieutenant Peck!" One of the clerks stuck her pretty head out from the General's office waving a piece of paper. "I took a phone call, you got a message," she called. "Something about a 1958 Cadillac?"

"Oh great!" Peck turned to the Colonel. "Excuse me just a second, Sir. It's in your interest, believe me."

Smith smiled. "Opening night at the DMZ Club, Lieutenant?" he asked.

"The DMV Tennis and Racket Club, Sir! You hadn't forgotten then?"

"Of course not. I'm waiting for the bikini clad women! Been waiting a while, too!"

"All in hand, Colonel, trust me!" Peck turned to cross the parade ground towards the waiting clerk. "Thank you so much, Lizzy!" he enthused. "We still on for later tonight? Sweetheart, we are going to have a great time!" Her smile was dazzling as she nodded eagerly.

"Something tells me things are gonna get interesting around here!" Brenner muttered.

The rest of the Team exchanged bewildered looks, Murdock nodded his head slowly. "About time we had some fun – he's been away way too long!"

After taking the paper from the clerk, Peck came back to them, reading the message, pursing his lips and fiddling with his tie. He let out a troubled sigh.

"Problem, Lieutenant?" Hannibal asked.

The arrogant, confident smile was back instantly. "Why Colonel," Peck purred assuredly. "There is no such thing as a problem only a solution waiting to be found!"

"Good! Come on then," the Colonel said, matching the smile. "This calls for a celebration. I got some Jack Daniels in the hootch – I want to make a toast to returning friends!"

He threw his arm around Peck. "Did you see the look on Colonel Potter's face?" He laughed loudly as the pair began to walk away. "I thought he was going to have a coronary right there!"

"I guess I was the last person he expected to see," Peck agreed.

"How in hell did you swing it?" Murdock butted in from behind them, still puzzled.

Peck hesitated and turned back to him. "Official orders, of course, HM!" he said in all seriousness.

"Official orders?" Murdock repeated, his eyes widening suspiciously.

Peck threw him a look that was stunning in its confidence and lifted his hands palms outwards. "So official, so legitimate, so genuine ….. and so written by my own talented hands."

"Unbelievable!" Brenner said as Baracus shook his head.

"Oh I believe it!" Murdock said unable to hide the admiration in his voice or the spark in his eye.

"I had some help from the Colonel," Peck continued. He turned to Hannibal and was suddenly and modestly earnest for at least a second. "It means a lot to me, thank you, Sir."

"We've been missing you, kid, waiting for you to show." His eyes twinkled with mischief, "Mind you a couple of those Looeys they offered me could have worked out OK!"

The Colonel laughed loudly at the disbelief that flicked across Peck's perfect features. "I don't think so Colonel," he responded with affected affront. "There's only one me, remember? I have it from the very best source – I'm special!"

Patting the Lieutenant's shoulder fondly, the Colonel continued to chuckle. "I'm joking, Lieutenant! And I think we're passed that 'Sir stuff' now, kid, call me, Hannibal!"

The Lieutenant rolled his eyes as the scepticism vanished from his face to be immediately replaced by a bold smirk. "Of course, Sir!" Smoothly he reached into his top pocket. "Cigar, Hannibal?"

"Don't mind if I do," Smith chuckled as he accepted the offer, popped the cigar into his mouth and bent forwards slightly to use the Zippo flame that had instantly appeared in the blond's hand. "And get your haircut, Lieutenant!" he growled cheerily.

"Yes, Sir!" They snickered as they moved away together, the Colonel's arm around the younger man's shoulder in a fatherly embrace.

"Well I'll be…!" Brenner whistled through his teeth and shook his head ruefully.

"Wouldn't believe it if I ain't seen it!" Baracus snorted.

"But he's back!" Murdock said. "And suddenly everything seems right somehow." He glanced skyward. "Thanks for looking after him and bringing him home," he muttered softly.

Lowrie sighed deeply and began reciting, "Name: Peck, Templeton Arthur. Rank: First Lieutenant. Birth date: 7 December 1950. Service Number: 522-78-5444C. Height: 5'11", Nickname…. nickname…" he stopped and scrunched up his face in distress. "Hey guys…. isn't it time we gave him a nickname? Reckon he deserves one after……." He stopped, still unwilling to put words to that awful experience in the jungle.

"But I don't get it," Sharp chipped in as he walked beside Murdock and Brenner. "Where do you know him from? What's so special about this guy? Why does he deserve a nickname?"

The two older men smirked.

"What's so special about Lieutenant Templeton Peck?" Murdock repeated. "You never heard of Templeton Peck? You don't know the guy's reputation? What he did? You never heard of the fear he brings to the heart of the VC, the love he so unselfishly shares with all the nurses on this base, not to mention the female clerical staff and the envy he creates in all us 'normal' guys?"

Sharp shook his head, noting it was the first time he had heard Murdock refer to himself as normal but deciding not to pursue it at this time. "Nope, never have, who is he?" he said instead, grinding his finished smoke into the dust with his boot heel.

"Who is he?" Murdock parroted in mock incredulity. "Who is Templeton Peck?!"

Brenner smiled, feeling irrationally jubilant and thrilled at the surprising happenings of the past few minutes and wanting to join in the fun. "He's Colonel Smith's Executive Officer," he ventured as they moved off down the path.

"He's our Supplies Officer," Murdock agreed enthusiastically. "He'll get you anything, any time, any place!" He pursed his lips, pondering. "But a nickname, Ray, a nickname!"

"He's the ladies man!" Brenner continued, trying to get his notoriously vague imagination into some sort of gear. "The pantyhose kid?" he suggested.

"The golden, the eloquent, the fluent and with an 'oh- so' expressive tongue!" Murdock was dramatically waving his arms about excitedly and at the last sticking out and retracting his tongue like some manic lizard as he circled around the bemused Sharp.

"The expert soldier." Brenner was more refined and stifling his guffaw at the pilot's antics.

"How about something around BBB - the Brilliant Bridge Blower?" Murdock enthused, bounding down the path eagerly. "Or the Subtle Cigar Supplier or even our Colonel's boy!" He finished with a triumphant flourish and stopped abruptly.

Sharp managed not to walk into the unexpectedly stationary pilot and looked from him to Brenner, his face showing his complete bewilderment. He opened his mouth to respond and as he did so, Baracus growled impatiently behind them.

"Describe Peck; that's easy!" The big guy snorted as he pushed past, "He the perfect face, man!" he snarled.

"What a great line, BA!" Brenner said with admiration.

Lowrie nodded his agreement.

"The perfect face ….man. The perfect …faceman, face…..man, Faceman!" Murdock repeated, playing with the name and the feel it made as it came from his lips. "You know, Big Guy, oh Baracan one who must be obeyed in all things," he pointedly ignored, as only he could, Baracus' annoyed growl at him. "I think that might stick!"

And of course it did……………………….

The End

* * *

**Author's Note: **Thanks for all your kind remarks and reviews, words can't express how much I appreciate your support, so I dedicate my happy ending to all you guys out there in the hope you remain on the jazz forever!!!!

Clairon


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